Salt-Peter and Other Stories
by Blue Mistfall
Summary: A collection of stories featuring the Doctors... as little children. Everyone gets a role here.
1. Salt-Peter

**A/N: I finally did it. This is based on Artdirector123's Toddler Who AU, where the Doctors are little children (and not only the Doctors) and most companions are their sitters. This story features Peter (Twelve) as the main character.  
**

* * *

Peter was a strange child. And it was not only about his appearance, which included little tight curls of an odd ashy shade - little kids don't often have such hair color. But he thought it was better than the "curl boom" on the head of his friend Tom (yeah, that child was odd in his own way - walking around in long long stripy scarf and hat all the time). Anyway, Peter's stepbrother Matt was what you'd call a normal five-year-old boy. Cheerful, very very excitable and not caring about being laughed at, like when their preschool mate Mels had tied his hair into two pigtails and his eyes had been sparkling all day because, you see, those hairbands had been just like bowties. And Matt had a weakness for this type of accessories.

But Peter was of a different kind. When he wanted to play, he liked setting his own rules, and this worked rarely. And almost each time when he wanted to do something good, it ended up in a flop, so now, after one more such flop, he was not in the best of moods, sitting on the second floor of the bunk bed he shared with Matt.

"I'll show them who's boss", Peter muttered, addressing it to Matt's favourite toy giraffe carelessly thrown in the corner. But - how? If you're a child, you cannot have much success in talks with adults. They are always busy. And other kids considered Peter to be "all-buttons-fastened", whatever that meant (this was the expression of Sarah, the aunt of that very Tom-stripy-scarf). So... something was needed to attract them all and show who's the "man". What? What?.. At first Peter thought about banging on the drums, but abandoned this idea. No one had drums anyway, only pots, and that was a tried trick.

Drums. Wait. Drums!.. No. That was a used trick. Peter's group mate John was crazy about drums, especially the four-beat rhythm, so this was twice useless.

"Drums make noise, and adults are always mad about noise", Peter muttered, building a chain in his mind - adults call that "logic", don't they? "Need good noise. And more..."

Wait a bit. What makes much noise but is loved by everybody? What makes not only noise but a spectle... spec-ta-cu-lar sight? What is able to attract everybody? Peter beamed with all of his tiny-toothed mouth - now he had an idea. But then his cheer was nearly all gone. How was he going to accomplish this?.. Another idea shot up in his head.

* * *

"Why would YOU do it?"

"Because I said so!"

If Peter was good at something, that was telling others what to do in such tone that they couldn't resist. But here there was a counter-power as powerful as this. It had a ponytail, wore black jacket with loads of sewn-on pictures, knew what could explode with bangs and flashes and carried a nickname Ace (because this was one of her most favourite words). But she was stubborn as well, and right now Peter was attempting to convince her to lend him some of her belongings nicked from garages, rubbish bins and even school labs.

After about half an hour of bickering Ace agreed to help him with his plan, but it appeared to be not so simple.

"I have two conditions for you". She was getting her way at least here. "One: I help you. Because your boggled eyes won't help you when you need to see what goes where".

Peter rolled his eyes (which were indeed very large and watery blue, so this made him look surprised all the time).

"And what's two?"

"I'll call you Salt-Peter!" Ace chuckled.

"What the pudding?!"

"Saltpeter is stuff that makes fire burn with different colors", Ace explained. Yeah, messing around with explosives required knowledge about them. "And your face is always as if you ate an over-salted dinner".

Peter frowned, but this was the least of "counter-deeds".

* * *

The place choice for their "prank" was easy. Town park. Many people were going to see it, and it was one of the meeting places of Clara and her boyfriend Danny (ooooooh, it wasn't easy to get Clara's attention when he was around!). Matt wouldn't give a damn about it - he would always run away in such cases either to catch a butterfly or to play with his friend David and his twin brother (Peter didn't remember his name), or to find adventures.

The most difficult part was hiding the boxes with rockets for no one to see them and connecting them with a cable. At first Peter wanted to fire them up with matches - he coped with them perfectly, and for security he had stolen the electric thing which lit cooker up - but Ace had insisted on cable "because it'll be quicker". Quicker means quicker, okay - in fact, Peter didn't want to run around once more.

"Done", he grinned, having met with Ace on their "base spot". "Let me!"  
Hardly had Ace said a word when there was a bang, boom, then another, one more and much more - and Peter jumped two meters high (or he thought so) because while all that running around he had forgotten that one of the boxes was hidden right in the bush next to him.

* * *

"Clara! Clara!" Matt was bouncing around the bench, pointing at the sky. "Fireworks!"

And indeed, the darkening sky was covered in multi-colored sparkles: green with white, golden spirals, red, blue and violet - all rainbow colors and their mixes. Or no, it was more of Northern lights and volcano eruption at the same time. However, marvelling at this sight (which was quite a rare occasion) didn't prevent Clara from catching Peter who attempted to dart past her but didn't succeed.

One sight at Peter's soot-covered face with frozen expression of fear and stun was more than enough.

"Pe-e-eter?" Danny asked, arching his brows.

Again, again, again. I did it all wrong! No way I can make them... - this sounded in Peter's head, but he didn't scream it all out. Instead, he bit his bottom lip, his blue eyes growing even more watery. After all, he was just a kid, though strange.

"I did it", he blabbed out, trying to keep his voice even. "I boomed the sky".

"That's clear, you little sneak", Danny parried, but Clara hushed at him and asked in a calm quiet voice:

"Why did you do that, Peter?"

"You always talk to him, and you always talk to Matt, and you love 'em, and you..."

"Peter, you silly boy, did you really think that I don't love you?" Clara was genuinely surprised. "Why did you?"

Peter shivered when she put her hands on his shoulders. It was another odd feature of his - when it came to touch, his name matched him perfectly. "Peter". "Rock", "stone". Most of the time he didn't respond to hugging or patting or anything else. It was as if touching a statue.

"Y-y-you always smile when Matt does things", Peter mumbled, struggling with himself - he didn't want to confess that the explosion behind the bush cracked him up. "And wh-wh-when I do things, you..."

He didn't finish because Clara scooped him up and wrapped him in her arms, not caring that her red shirt was in black spots now. Matt climbed onto the bench and joined her, clinging to both his guardian and stepbrother.

"You didn't have to make me like it or not like it. I love you because you exist, not because you do or not do something", Clara whispered.

Peter would have preferred that no one saw him - his "rock" nature melted so much that he slowly hugged Clara back. It would've lasted longer if it was not for Ace, who dashed from behind the closest bush:

"Hey, Salt-Peter! You were right, it was awesome! Care for more?.."

"I have a very serious talk to you, young lady..."

Ace was gone before Danny would've stood up - no wonder, after disappearance of explod-y stuff from his house he had a reason to get this little sneak as soon as possible.


	2. Pretty Pat-tern

**A/N: The second story features Matt (Eleven) and Patrick (Two).**

* * *

"And you're going to walk around with a kid whose BOY sitter wears a skirt?! Hahahahahahah!" A boy with a dark buzzcut and evil-like smirk (it seemed that he couldn't smile in a different way) burst out laughing when he saw that Matt was peacefully talking to the newbie.

"Go away, Simmy!" Matt shouted.

"And this is not a skirt", the newbie - all black bowlcut and deep blue eyes - added. He was kind of a "helpless brave kid": attempting to resist, but with nervousness in his voice.

"It is! It is one of the lies adults tell kids! And you know what my big bro says? He's seen lots of Scots, and they all were not wearing pants!" Simmy (whose real name was John Simm, but the kids called him this way not to mix with other Johns) went on giggling until Matt and the newbie got two more protectors. Those were David and John, the twins who were Simmy's greatest opposites in all senses - from the ability to smile to character.

"You were said to get lost, Simmy, or you're going to get a double hit", David threatened. Simmy sulked and, having thrown a we're-not-done-yet glare at the newbie, walked away. "Anyway, I see we haven't caught up with Matt again. I'm David, that's Johnny. No mix-up, okay?"

"O-okay. Name's Patrick", the newbie replied.

* * *

The second half of the day passed without problems, though Johnny had a suspicion about Simmy (who had been gone every break). Patrick appeared to be "counter-Matt", as Matt's stepbrother Peter said: he appeared to be very alert and ready for any deed, but only around those who won his trust. When it was about complete strangers, he momentarily turned into a reserved and shy creature. Two different kids.

The realisation started at the drawing class.

"Wow, look, Little Beatle's able to smile!" That was Mels, the second troublemaker after Simmy. Their difference was that Simmy was only pleasing himself with mischief, while Mels wanted to prove her own point of view (which didn't often match the "needed" one), but was quite good-natured, though explosive. And truly, now Patrick's expression was dreamy, and the corners of his mouth were turned up while he was moving the blue pencil over the paper.

"He doesn't look like a bug, Mels", Matt objected and, not caring that she was hardly holding her laughter, walked up to his new pal. "Show me, please".

But Patrick covered the drawing with his hands and remained like that until Matt shrugged and walked away. Only when it was ready, he allowed the rest to see it. In the very front there was a figure in black sweater with too huge collar and something like a checkered skirt. It was holding a hand of a much smaller figure - dark-topped, wearing pants with colorful (too colorful) suspenders. Next to them there was a blue box of those which had been gone decades ago. Also Patrick had managed to fit in more little figures, which were a bit behind - one with a ridiculously huge fringe, two almost identical and one with brown skin. The clumsy writings over this all said: "MAT", "JAMI", "MI", "DAVID", "JHONY" and "MELS". To be honest, almost all letters were written correctly, except for mirrored "N".

"At least you wrote me correctly", Mels immediately commented.

"And you care only about this!" Johnny replied. "It's great, Pat... Why did you draw a box there?"

"I read a tale about a man from blue box, who came and saved the day", Patrick admitted.

"And you, wishful bonehead, thought he would come?"

"SIMMY!" This was said simultaneously by all kids. Yes, Simmy was there to spoil it all.

"It all's not real. Tales are not real, quick friends are not real, and COOL BOWTIES are not real!" Within the last word Simmy, who was slowly approaching to Patrick all this time, quickly moved his hand and in a second was running away, clutching a stripe of indigo cloth which used to be Patrick's bowtie.

"Give it here!"

"Able to run? Get me!" Simmy blew raspberries at Patrick and darted into the corridor.

* * *

After the classes (luckily one of the teachers noticed Simmy's behaviour and punished him for the rest of the day at least) Matt, who was worried and bamboozled, because Patrick had been gone from sight after the chase, began searching all over the pre-school territory and finally found the newbie on the branch of the tallest tree around.

"Heeeey! Patrick, come down!" Matt shouted. "Simmy's not going to bother anybody!"

Instead of reply there was a rumble and silence.

"I promise!" Matt went on, wondering for how long he was going to yell like this. It's easy to get punished for it as well.

"P'haps I could shoot fireworks?" This was Peter, who had already recovered from the crack-up he had got when he had unleashed a huge set of fireworks in the town's park.

"Peter, you no want him to fall", Matt said reproachfully. "Pa-a-a-at!"

"Pat-cat. Cats rarely go down from trees", Peter muttered.

But here he was wrong. After some minutes Patrick got brave enough to get down, though slowly and carefully. Oh dears, what he looked like! His pants were torn on the knees, one of his red suspenders with yellow patterns was ripped in two, and he was besmeared in dirt head-to-toe. But the most prominent moment was his bowtie which was still missing.

"You sat there the whole time?" Matt marvelled. His wish to ask questions was gone as soon as he saw two lines of almost clean skin on Patrick's cheeks, beginning at his eyes. "Is it because of Simmy?"

Patrick sniffed his nose, rubbing his face with his fist.

"Next time he teases you, I'll steal explosives from Ace and put them into his bag", Peter promised.

"And I told you that I'll be your friend", Matt reminded. "I'll prove it". Having said that, he undid his blue polka-dotted bowtie and tied it around Patrick's neck (he had already learned how to tie this knot though his fingers still got stuck in loops of cloth). "Don't tell me anything, I have a box of 'em!"

"Really?" Patrick coughed to clear his throat - his blue eyes were as big as saucers now.

"Really-really. Now..." Matt dug into his pocket and produced another strip of cloth (this time dark red), which was immediately tied around his own neck.

"Bowtie buddies?"

"Bowtie buddies", Patrick nodded, though he didn't quite understand what that meant. It sounded well, after all.

"When is your guardian coming?" Matt asked as they approached back to the yard.

"Emmmm..."

"I wanted to see if he's as awesome as I think", Matt explained. "If Simmy says bad things about people, it usually means they are awesome. He is green about them, this is it".

"Green?" Patrick blinked.

"Jell-ows", Peter interfered with a really clever face (Matt snickered upon this sight). "Bad word".


	3. Scrooged

"Peter?"

"Huh?"

"Do you believe that when we grow old Ghosts of Christmas will come?"

"Go to sleep, Matt".

The little boy in rocket print pajamas, whose floppy hair had a tendency of getting into his green eyes all the time, even now, pulled the blanket over his head and went on whispering to his stepbrother who was tossing and turning on the upper floor of the bunk bed:

"What's that creaking?"

"The bed, don't be silly".

"Peter, and what if Clara... what if Ghosts of Christmas comes to Clara?"

"Sleep, Matt. Next time I won't let you choose the movie". This was muffled, because Peter was already half-asleep, face in the pillow.

Matt was a really impressive boy, and this had worked today. They had watched A Christmas Carol in the evening (even Peter had shown that he had enjoyed the movie), which made him recall the events of it. Though the well-known story had a good ending, the events before had been more than just sights. At least for Matt.

Peter was already snuffling into his pillow, while Matt was still wide awake. He knew that Clara was sleeping downstairs, and that he could walk there and wake her if something took place... and that she would protect him...

Matt curled up in a little ball upon the hissing sound from the outside, but then he realized that it was just a sound of car wheels. Silly Matt, silly Matt, he told himself. Perhaps Peter is right, and no ghost was going to come. Nobody and nothing. What was that song which they had been learning on singing classes? Silent night, holy night...

Woooosh.

Matt sat up in his bed, his heart beating twice faster than usually. This sound was unlike any car wheels against snow-clad asphalt. It was like... like what? Matt imagined his groupmate David throwing paper planes. Huge huge paper planes. Over the roof...

"Ow ow ow ow ow!"

Matt bunched up in the corner. This was not Peter's voice. And not Clara's. It sounded from the attic. And there was thumping as well.

"Come back! Come back!"

Matt pulled the blanket over himself so only his face and a wisp of his hair was visible now. Burglars. No, not burglars. What burglars come from the attic?..

A beam of moonlight suddenly dashed into the room through the window, and a human figure - oh gods, simply fell into the place through the ceiling. Fell, jumped up and began bouncing on its right foot, holding the left.

"There you go", the figure said, finally stood on both feet and turned to Matt. "Oh, hello. Sorry for the rumble, just my shoes. Sometimes they refuse changing the way of moving".

"W-who are you?" Matt whispered, his eyes wide with fear. It was not the stranger's appearance that scared him - in fact, he seemed benign enough. Pretty tall, with dark brown hair combed backwards which was accompanied by huge quills of different colors sticking behind his ears - three at each side. Clara had shown Matt and Peter pictures of Roman emperors in the children's encyclopedia, and those emperors were wearing laurel garlands, so these quills reminded Matt of them. The man's clothing consisted of a white shirt with wide sleeves, black pants, black waistcoat and shiny shoes with silver wing patterns on their sides.

"They see me as Smith Who Writes the Letter of Enormous Width", the stranger sang. "But for you - just Smith, the spirit of stories".

"The spirit of stories?.."

"Wasn't that you who watched A Christmas Carol with your nanny and bro? I thought you'd understand..." Smith shrugged and glanced at his shoes once again. "Sorry, a little check-up..." He bounced high into the air and, having performed four somersaults in a row (no one apart from a toon character would hold in the air for such a long time!), landed without even a bump. "Perfect!"

"H-how..."

"Spiritual benefits", Smith beamed. "See, I can soar in the air like any ghost - okay, spirit, if you like it - any time I want, but when I need to cover a long distance, I just have to put these", he pointed at the patterns on his shoes, "correctly, and wheeeeee! But sometimes they grow disobedient, that's why I've been a bit noisy... Anyway, I'm here not for performing tricks". He produced a small book bound in deep blue leather from his pocket (how did it fit there?..) and sat onto the bed next to Matt.

"That was a trick", Matt objected.

"For YOU, not for ME", Smith pointed out. "I want to read you a story. A very special story". He opened the book. "You like being read to, aren't you?"

"Yes, but promise it won't be scary".

"Okay. Once upon a time there lived..."

"A little girl?" Matt asked, his fear reducing. Listening to a story was not frightening after all.

"No".

"A king?"

"No".

"A wood-cutter?"

"No. Three trials, score one-nil in my favour! There lived a man. Someone says he was magic, someone says he was dangerous, someone explains it with science, but no one is right. He knew everything that people could ever know, he saw things no one could ever imagine, he was almost immortal!.. and he was lonely".

"Why?" Matt whispered.

The lines on the opened pages of Smith's book began lighting with soft golden shine, which formed into a small, but very clear silhouette of an old man grinning mischievously, as if he was thinking of a prank.

"Because he escaped from his own folk. He was an exile. But he had a magic box which could get him anywhere... and he had a little trick up his sleeve. Whenever someone tried to kill him, he could change and stay alive. Look".

The image of the cunning old man changed to the one of the younger one, who looked more like a hobo. This figurine was dancing jig and playing a flute, and

Matt giggled.

"He wished that someone could understand him and stay with him, but no one could. But he didn't know that he had the most faithful friend close to him".

The image began changing on, until it turned into a man in a magician-like outfit, with head full of tight curls, just like Peter's.

"You see, this magic box of his had a soul. And though it couldn't talk to him, she could let him know what she wanted".

"Mr. Smith... but there's always one who can stay with him and live happily ever after, like in all stories", Matt complained. "Why there's no such one here?"

"And this is why I'm telling you this story", Smith replied. "That man lives in you, in your brother, in Clara - everywhere. And you can make his solitude easier, if you never forget those who you love. You love Clara, don't you? And you love your parents, and Peter, and... whoever. Never forget them, and maybe one day that man may come and say thanks to you".

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. He will look just like you imagine him. And if you want to make him smile, ask him a little question. Two or three times, if he asks".

"What question?"

The corners of Smith's mouth almost reached his ears:

"Doctor Who?"

"Doctor Who?" Matt parroted.

"Doctor... Who?"

"Doctor Who?"

Smith opened his mouth, as if going to ask this question for the third time from his side, but then his expression changed into a grin, he jumped up and took the bright green quill from behind his left ear:

"Wanna know what these are for?"

Matt nodded. He had seen that some adults placed pens or cigarettes behind their ears for easy reach, and wondered why this oddball had quills there.

"You see, my job is searching for stories. I write them down in my long letter. And I don't invent them, because I see them at every moment, every place and time. Even right now! And then I tell those stories to those who agree to listen to them. As a result, some of those who listen to me write those stories down and make them better!"

"But you didn't tell me for what you need these", Matt said, staring at the green quill in Smith's fingers.

"Watch!"

And Smith began skilfully moving his instrument in the air - its tip was emitting a golden thin line, as if air was paper. Moreover, it was going to be a 3-D image, really and truly. At first Smith drew the basic lines: head, torso, hands and legs, then began adding details. Floppy hair combed to the side, eyes wide with excitement, big smiling mouth...

"Mr. Smith, that's me!" Matt exclaimed and froze: Peter mumbled something in his sleep, rolled over and went on snuffling.

"No, that's not you". The 3-D drawing was almost done - Smith was obviously used to this kind of work. He added braces and bowtie to the already drawn clothes and cocked his head to the side, adoring the result. "THAT is you".

The image turned its head, beamed almost till its ears and clapped its hands.

"Someone thought of a character", Smith went on. "A character just like you, Mattie".

"I'm in a book?"

"Call it so if you wish". Smith blinked. "Ding! And now your brother is as well!"

* * *

"Clara, Clara! I saw such a dream!" Matt was exclaiming, bouncing on the couch next to Clara who was sleepily rubbing her eyes. "As if the spirit of stories came and told me that I am in a book and Peter is and he drew me and he told me about a man who lives forever and who can change and who is alone and who needs a friend and that one day he may come Clara have you heard this tale before?"

"No, I didn't. I thought you didn't like A Christmas Carol".

"That spirit of stories wasn't scary at all! He was funny!" Matt went on, panting - the neverending sentence could make even him catch his breath. "He fell from the ceiling, and he had funny shoes which didn't obey him, and..."

"Matt, I'm sure that it was lots of fun. You'll tell us more during breakfast, okay?" Clara asked. Matt nodded and, eager to continue, ran to the bathroom, but this was only the first half of morning rituals. Peter, looking rather surly even for him (his eyebrows were so huge that it seemed that he was always frowning, and his nature wasn't as cheerful and enthusiastic as Matt's), walked into the room.

"Matt was tossing and turning all night", he complained. "And something rumbled up there", he pointed at the ceiling.

"Peter, there's nothing that could rumble up there", Clara assured. Peter stared at her, his watery blue eyes bulging even more:

"But I heard that! And all floor in our room is in golden dust! Really-really! It wasn't there!"

"Golden dust?"

Peter nodded. Clara made her way to the boys' room - and she could swear she heard a "woosh", as if a scared bird darted away, before opening the door - and made sure that he was right.


	4. Play Our Music

**A little children's revenge, hah.**

* * *

"Scared, Tow-top?"

"You wish, Dizzy!"

"They're not going to play pranks on us while together here", Peter assumed, watching the Simm siblings. Before that, no one had known that John Simm (aka "Simmy" not to confuse him with other Johns) had a sister. Or was she his cousin? Never mind. Her real name was Michelle, but she didn't call herself another way than "Missy", and Simmy loved the bad pun which came out. And always tried to get her.

Right now the kids were deciding whom to take into their teams for the game of dodgeball. But in the very end it revealed that it was impossible to form equal teams - twenty-one was an uneven number, after all.

"Hey, and what about... Music Kid?" Missy suddenly mentioned and pointed at the bench in the end of the pre-school yard, where the twenty-second member of the group was sitting all alone. He never took part in any competitions or team games, and a good half of the kids had never heard his voice. When it was about answering, he hardly moved his lips, as if he was always deadly tired. But when it was about singing, he showed signs of life: blush returned to his pale face framed by dark wavy curls (which made him look a bit like a girl), and he seemingly turned into a different person. For not long.

"I'll invite him". Matt decided to take a chance and walked to him. The curly-pate didn't even raise his head. "Hi Paul. Wanna play with us?"

"No, thank you. Sorry", Paul replied, barely louder than a whisper.

"Come on!"

"Sorry Matt, but I won't. I really won't".

"Paul, what's with your hands?" Matt's eyes rounded at the sight of Paul's fingers - they were covered in fresh wounds and red stripes crawling up his hands up to arms.

"No matter. Leave me alone, please, Matt. Have fun, okay?"

"He won't", Matt repeated, having returned to the group. "His hands are hurt. Maybe it's just painful for him".

"Or there can be something at home", Mels put in. "Hey, I can ask River to reveal what's wrong. She'll do it quick. I really don't like the look of his".

* * *

River indeed came to their group the next day during the break, but she looked as if she didn't want to tell anything.

"You were right, little sis", she said from the very beginning without greetings. "That's at his home. You know why Paulie didn't come today? He's worn out. Completely, like your old dress! It's about his sitter, Mr. Roberts. Did you know that Paul plays the violin? And sings? He shines like rainbow at our singing classes!"

"I heard such music from his house", Chris recalled. "It was like... wow!"

"Yeah, wow, Chris! Paul is a natural born fiddler. But now his mama Grace is on mission, and Mr. Roberts attempts to use full advantage".

"What do you mean, River?" Patrick asked.

"I mean that Paul loves improvising, and Mr. Roberts attempts to make him a puppet for fame. At any price. I saw it with my eyes. Paulie was playing the same tune twelve times in a row, and every time it sounded perfectly well, but Mr. Roberts tore him to pieces after each turn. 'You won't get your dinner if the next try is not ideal'!" River teased and grimaced. "No wonder that Paul doesn't want to play or talk to anybody. Guess he's so tired that he only wants to stay away from old chainsaw..."

"River, let's give old chainsaw his own treatment", Peter interfered.

"Huh?" Now all heads were turned to him.

"Clara says that bad kids should be punished", Peter continued. "Why bad adults can't? If everything is like you said, River, old chainsaw needs to be punished!"

"But no one will listen to us". This was the voice of Petey, the best friend of David - one of the only pair of twins here.

"Maybe Jamie will", Patrick objected.

"Fabee-loss!" Peter grinned - this was the rare expression on his face where eyebrows were dominant. "We can punish Mr. Roberts by ourselves! But we're going to need something..."

After he explained what he had in mind, River smirked and ruffled his little tight curls:

"What I like about you is that you're clever. Really-really".

"Unless Simissy blab it out..." Peter grumbled and glared at them. But "Simissy" reacted as if they read each other's thoughts: both crossed their arms and made up self-satisfied lop-sided grins.

"We won't", Simmy snapped.

"Always happy to set our order. And you, Peter Smartypants, also want to. Why not?" Missy added.

* * *

"What's that?" Peter asked, having spotted Petey, who was pulling a full rubbish bag behind. One glance - or one sniff - appeared to be enough to make it clear. "Eww! How didn't Miss Tegan punish you for this?"

"She wanted to throw it away", Petey explained and rubbed the sweat off his forehead. "I pulled these rotten veggies from the bin after she did it. She doesn't like eyebrows growing in fridge..."

"HEY!"

"She says so about that yucky grey and green stuff on spoilt food".

Peter nodded and peeked out of their hiding place: the abandoned building with empty windows not far from Paul's house. Patrick was the next to come. He brought a glass jar with three huge spiders.

"Jamie wanted to smash them with a newspaper!" he announced.

"We're not gonna hurt anybody, Pattie". River appeared after him. "Just give a wee lesson to Mr. Roberts... Peter, look what I've got". She produced two water pistols from behind her wide belt and twirled them around her fingers like a genuine cowgirl. "One for me, the other for Mels. Old chainsaw is going to pay for... Hush!"

The four crouched just in time for Mr. Roberts not to spot them. He walked out of the house and glanced around from behind his dark glasses, like a lion searching for prey.

"All kids here are afraid of old chainsaw", River whispered. "He supposes teaching everybody how to live to be his straight task. And not only kids".

"So if we punish him, it'll be good for adults?" Patrick asked.

"And what am I on about?" River smirked. "Where's your bro, Salt-Peter?"

"Here!" Matt's voice squeaked from behind.

"Silence!" Peter hissed at him.

"It's okay, he didn't hear that", Petey assured. "He's away now... Matt, got celery? I need something to chew".

"Don't tell me that you're nervous", Peter murmured.

"No celery. Look!" Matt opened the pack he's been carrying, having shown that it was full of hopelessly rotten apples. "Was hiding them under the bed. It was time - Clara could spot them, and..."

Soon all the members of the "revenge group" were here, and everybody brought some kind of an improvised weapon. Only Peter stayed with empty hands.

"What?! I thought of it!" he defended himself.

"Now what?" David asked.

"I see... Tom, Colin, operation: Scarf Tangle. Petey, Matt, attract old chainsaw's attention. Patrick, you'll release your spiders - don't miss the moment! David, John, you're for more help if needed. Simissy, fruit ninjas".

"Couldn't you find anyone else to do it?" Missy groaned.

"It's the most fun", Simmy objected, and she seemingly changed her mind.

"The rest - you know what to do..."

Chris ran to the needed house's door, tossed some fresh banana peels next to it and covered them with twigs. It was not really professional, but he did his best.

"If it's ripped, you will mend it", Tom whispered, when he and his friend Colin were occupying their hiding places at the sides of the door. "No rainbow patches, eh?"

Colin only thumbed his nose at him. Both forget about their arguments and got all tense when Matt tossed the first rotten apple into the window, having made a huge dirty spot on the glass. The meek violin tune sounding from the inside stopped in the middle. Petey nodded and tossed a mouldy tomato. Matt added another apple from his bag, but it didn't work until one especially lucky apple flew into the opened frame... and, judging by the splat and short angry yelp, hit Mr. Roberts himself.

Matt jumped out of the bushes and bounced under the window, making silly faces:

"Won't get me! Won't get me!"

"Why you little!.."

Matt threw a huge and especially wet pear (the gift from the twins David and John) as an answer. Now his task was to distract Mr. Roberts... and possibly get him out, where the real fun was to start. Meanwhile, Peter was convincing Paul to get out of the back window while "old chainsaw's" attention was turned to little rascal Matt.

Some more rotten fruit and vegetables worked too well: heavy thumping from the house was the signal for Tom and Colin, who pulled the long scarf's ends as soon as the door was open. The effect of banana peels and scarf trip-over was more than any of them suspected: Roberts slid down the pavement path, head first. But this was just the beginning, because at the next moment he was literally covered in little kids who wanted not less than making him immobile.

First of all Patrick shook all three spiders from his jar right onto Roberts's head, and then the adult's limbs were pressed to the ground - two kids on each of them. Simmy and Missy didn't lose time and tied Roberts's ankles together.

"You filthy little..." He didn't finish because David quickly pushed a huge green pear into his mouth.

"You tortured Paulie, now we will do the same to you". River's voice was sweeter than honey, and it promised nothing good. "You can toss your glasses away, Mr. Roberts".

A stream of icy cold water hit the adult into the part that is considered to be the most delicate, and he howled - partly with nasty feeling, partly with humiliation.

"Oh goodness!"

This exclamation made the kids raise their heads to see Mrs. Holloway - Paul's stepmother, whom he called "mama Grace". Everybody knew it, but no one ever said not to hurt anyone.

"Mrs. Holloway!" Peter shouted, running from behind the house (he was practically pulling Paul behind). "We had to punish Mr. Roberts, because..."

"Show it, Paul!" Matt grunted: he was pressing Roberts's right arm to the ground together with Patrick. "Your hands!"

For some seconds even Roberts stopped humming through the pear.

* * *

"But where did she spring from?" River was wondering. "It wasn't me. She was on mission and then - here..."

"River, stop this and let's listen". Jon (not John - the kids and some of the adults often pronounced his name as "Yon" not to confuse them) elbowed her and went on listening. Now Paul was playing his violin for them all, faster and better than before. No matter that it was taking place at the back yard - from time to time some of the passers-by stopped to stare at the natural born musician.

Paul finished the tune and blushed when the kids and adults applauded. But one of the observers - naturally, Peter - did not react: he was watching out for someone in the street. Suddenly he bounced up:

"Paul, give me your violin!"

Hardly had Paul opened his mouth to reply when Peter grabbed the instrument and fired its bow from it as if it was an arrow. A yelp of pain was heard - Roberts was attempting to sneak away without any trouble. No way!

"Final revenge, huh?" One of the observers - a teen lad with ginger hair and sharp nose - smirked upon this sight. "Liar. You know what, Paul? Roberts lied. Your mum wasn't on any mission. He wanted you to become his own money-puppet, this is why it was so. But now he's hardly going to return... Petey! I'm not as bad as you think!"

Petey only hummed something in return.

"Play something cheerful", the ginger lad asked, having returned Paul's bow to him.


	5. The Bluest Hobo

**A/U: TARDIS is landing, ha.**

* * *

"Shush!" Matt looked around, then grabbed Patrick's hand and pulled him across the street. "It's here".

"What's the secrecy, Matt?" Patrick asked, having almost tripped over his own feet while running after his friend.

"All adults don't like him. But he's good... See the phone box?" Matt pointed at the farther end of the road. "He usually spends nights there".

"What, he has no home?"

"Clara says that he's a hobo". Matt shrugged. "And no one would allow him to have a real home. Dunno why... I think he's returned".

Indeed, an old-fashioned phone booth - from those the rest of which had been trashed a long time ago - was sticking at the very end of the street, quite far from the houses. Unlike the booths which stayed as a decoration, it was painted blue, not red, and was not empty - something like a huge potato bag was seen through its blurry glass windows, and this "bag" was snoring.

"Mr. Tardis!" Matt called out, knocking at the door. "Mr. Tardis!"

"Tardis?" Patrick parroted. There was a mutter, then a monstrous yawn from behind the door, and then it was opened.

"Time-o-thee Alistair Rassilon Doxter Ivan Smith!"

The door opened to the inside, and a full image of the one who said it appeared in front of the boys.  
From the first sight it was understandable that Time-o-thee Alistair Rassilon Doxter Ivan Smith was not an ordinary hobo at all. First part of his that showed itself was his head, adorned with a deep blue top hat which lacked its ribbon and had a black headscarf with white rectangular patterns on it tied around it instead, so the ends of the tied accessory were hanging behind. In addition the hat was accompanied by huge bronze goggles over its brims, so there was an impression that the whole construction was really heavy. Locks of bright ginger hair were sticking from under it, and not because of the after-sleep condition. He did not fit the standards of beauty, even vice versa: the shape of his nose, chin, cheekbones and forehead reminded of the features of rudely made wooden statuettes, so his eyes didn't fit there much. Very large, of rare blue color and a wee little bit crossed.

"Ooh, Matt! Got apples?" The man stood up, and all of his clothing showed out. How could he even sleep while wearing this? The first seen detail was the enormous belt sewn out of different pieces, on which various items were hanging: brushes, hankwrenches, tubes of paint, screwdrivers, bags filled with something rattling and some more things that the kids didn't know, which rumbled upon every movement of their owner. His baggy shirt and pants were also sewed out of patches, but this time they all were of the same color - blue, fitting to his eyes, and dotted with paint spots all over. Maybe he was crazy about the color blue. Apart from this, these clothes were covered in closing pockets - not only places where they were supposed to be, but on sleeves, trouser knees and even back. No wonder if there was a lot of them inside. And his shoes reminded of those which belonged to Pippi Longstocking from the tale which Clara once read to Matt and his stepbrother Peter: black and firm, they were so huge that their owner was perhaps catching them with his feet after every step.

"N-no. Sorry, Mr. Tardis, I didn't get any today", Matt admitted.

"No matter..."

While the strange man was stretching himself and yawning, getting rid of his sleep, Patrick whispered to his friend:

"Why do you call him Mr. Tardis?"

"The first letters of his full name. He told me to call him so".

"And why didn't he yell at you after you woke him?"

"Checked: if he snores, this means he can be woken with peace", Matt giggled.

Patrick glanced inside the phone booth, and it seemed incredible to him that such a man like Mr. Tardis could fit inside, lie down onto the floor and sleep there.

"Dippers-whippers-snappers..." Mr. Tardis mumbled, having finished his physical exercises. "Oh-ho-ho, Mattie, you're not alone. What? A newbie here?"

"Just came to our preschool. That's Patrick, and he's my bowtie buddy!" Matt beamed, showing all of his tiny teeth.

"That's great!" Mr. Tardis mirrored his expression. But Patrick did not smile.

"Why is there so much secrecy?" he asked.

"Because I'm not an ordinary adult". Mr. Tardis crouched next to him. "I earn a living doing what I like, but it's needed not too often and is not official. Guess what I do".

"Emm... you paint pictures?"

"And?"

"You fix things".

"Yeah. I paint pictures on empty walls inside and outside. And sometimes help those whose cars and bikes are broken. But it depends on my luck. For some reason everybody's sure that appearance is what happens, not what you can do". Mr. Tardis shrugged. "And this booth can be called my house. What? At least I don't get wet when it rains!"

"And why were you sleeping? It's almost evening", Patrick noticed.

"You see, shoe-makers often don't have their own shoes". Mr. Tardis tapped the tips of his grandiose shoes. "I don't have any transport. And when someone asks me to paint a pic, I gotta get to the place on foot. Sometimes I walk all night. And I need to sleep as well!"

"My mama HAAAAAATES Mr. Tardis", Matt put in all of a sudden. "When she hears about him, she screams and shouts all the time. Don't tell Jamie, okay?"

Patrick nodded.

"Someone doesn't see things in front of their eyes". Mr. Tardis was seemingly not bothered at all. "Coming to watch stars tonight? I think it's not going to be cloudy. Finally will show you where's what".

* * *

Matt was not the only one. The night indeed appeared to be starry, and soon enough lots of kids gathered at the lawn close to Mr. Tardis's booth. In case of emergency they could quickly run home, because Mrs. Smith, Matt's mum, wasn't the only adult who didn't like the "crazy hobo". But Mr. Tardis was indifferent to society's opinion.

"Many constellations have clever scientific names", he began, while the kids sat around him in a circle. "But some of them are just called after animals. The Swan is riiiiight over there", he moved his finger in the air. "See? Imagine a bird with unfurled wings. Now compare. Doesn't it look like a flying bird? Someone called it The Forest Bird, and others called it The Hen".

The mischief trio - Simmy, Missy and Mels - suppressed laughter.

"There are other birds in the sky", Mr. Tardis continued. "The Phoenix, The Raven, The Peacock, The Eagle, The Pigeon. But we cannot see them now".

"Why?" The twins David and John didn't lose their chance to speak together.

"Because they are... basically under us", Mr. Tardis grinned. "Our Earth is a big great ball floating in space, and we are on its top part, while these stars can be seen only from its bottom part".

"And what if I fall into a pit and get out of it at the other side of Earth?" Tom-Stripy-Scarf asked. "It's going to be funny if I jump out of there, and everybody walks upside down!"

"No one does". Matt's stepbrother Peter elbowed him.

"And now on animals. There's The Giraffe..." Mr. Tardis twirled his head in search for it, while Matt was jumping with excitement. "And The Dragon, The Scorpion, The Whale, The Flying Fish, The Fox..."

"There's a zoo up in the sky", River, Mels's older sister, interfered.

"Yeah. Lots of imagination!" Mels caught up.

"Mr. Tardis, and you use your imagination or listen to what others say when you paint your pictures?" Petey suddenly wondered. "My friend always has an example when he draws".

"Both, Petey-Davey", Mr. Tardis replied, fell onto his back and placed his hands under his head. Simmy, not going to lose his chance, sneakily pulled his crazy hat to himself and placed it onto his scruffy blond head, so it covered his face till his chin. "See, Simmy? Stolen things don't often bring luck to their thieves... unless, of course, they wish to be stolen".

Simmy muttered something from behind the hat and raised it upwards, but it couldn't hold on without support.

* * *

"Next time you'll get more if I ever see you close to him!" Mrs. Tricia Sidrat promised, having read Simmy a lecture on good behaviour (thought this would be useless), being careful (double useless) and "not hanging out with social misfits".

"Honestly, I did not even walk up to him!" Simmy replied, staring at her with honest eyes.

"And this is for telling lies!"

Simmy, his cheeks burning because of two fresh slaps, pouted and walked upstairs to the room which he shared with his many misfit siblings - Missy (the daredevil), Derek (the space cadet), Eric (the bossy-boots), Anthony (the king bee) and Roger (the know-it-all).

"How did she guess?" Simmy howled, having climbed onto the third floor of the bunk bed - such small amount of space required extra measures.

"You smell like him", Roger immediately guessed. "They always catch it".

Meanwhile Mrs. Sidrat walked out, sure that her charges learned a lesson, and went to the place where she kept her horse. Sometimes she just needed to get a ride to relax and forget about those children. And in all she loved it when she was riding the street, looking at everybody from above... unless someone was to spoil it.

Hardly had she covered a mile when she bumped into the noticed hobo, and not alone. He must've decided to spoil some more children: two little boys - one in a cape and with a mop of fluffy blond hair, the other dark-topped and in braces - were running around him, while he was spreading bronze-colored paint according to pencil markings on the wall of the closest house.

"And he's painting his pictures again", Mrs. Sidrat said loudly for him to hear.

"By fe way, I waf afked to do fo", the hobo replied through the paintbrush between his teeth, and the boys nodded as an approval.

"That's no wonder that you can't find a proper job. You have your hands growing from the wrong place".

The horse neighed, as if approving her mistress's conclusion, and trotted back onto the road. But Mr. Tardis didn't want her to get the last word of the talk. He slowly walked up to the rider, made up his most elaborate smile and said:

"Look at that, you two. You can't see a horse with two butts and three chins every day".

He got back to work before Mrs. Sidrat understood what that meant.

"You sewed her off", Matt giggled. "That was cool".

"I'd really like to kick her down", Jon confessed - secretly he wanted to learn how to fight. "She's a MEANIE".

"Wait until she sees what I wrote on her steed's side", Mr. Tardis grinned. "She's going to be really surprised - I don't own my brushes and paints for nothing. Tricky hands and no cheating!"

* * *

**References:**  
**1) The name "Time-o-thee" is a pun on the name Timothy, while the rest are related to Timelords or those who are known by titles (Alistair - the Brigadier; Doxter - a combo of the name "Dexter" and "Doctor"; Ivan - the Russian version of "John" for the Doctor's alias "John Smith").**  
**2) Matt mentions that if Mr. Tardis snores, this means he will wake up in good mood. This refers to the TARDIS sounds, which come out before landing (coming to real world in both cases).**  
**3) Mrs. Sidrat is the double of the Master's TARDIS (it first appeared masked as a horse van, this is why she rides a horse here).**  
**4) Mr. Tardis's phrase "Look at that, you two. You can't see a horse with two butts and three chins every day" is a reference to Aladdin (remember: "Look at that, Abou, you cannot see a horse with two butts every day!").**


	6. Notion Potion

"Whoa, what a rare guest. Why were you waiting... sorry, will be waiting... oh, ARE waiting here?"

Petey did his best to hide his creeps. Everyone sensible (including adults) felt wary about Idris - the strangest lady in the neighbourhood and at the same time the eternal mate of Time-o-thee Alistair Rassilon Doxter Ivan Smith, aka Mr. Tardis for those who knew. Her old-fashioned (and old) puffy dresses and high hairstyles were the least part of it. Most of the time she stayed calm and enjoyed commenting everything in her specific way (which included mixing tenses, as if she didn't feel sure about time), but sometimes she could break out and... well, biting her mate in the ear all of a sudden was the lightest trick in her fashion.

"Where's Mr. Tardis?" Petey pointed at the old phone booth which served Mr. Tardis as a rain shelter and sleeping place. "I wanna talk to him."

"Hmm... I suppose he's in his working cellar." Idris thought for a while and nodded. "Yes, he's there."

"Thanks!"

It was another odd feature of hers. Idris always knew where Mr. Tardis was. But this time the version wasn't the best. Walking down the darkened stairway always scared all the kids, and Petey especially, but he still walked there, fighting his fears along the way.

"Mr. Tardis! It's Petey!"

After a while the noise behind the rusty iron door went away, there was a clank of a key in the keyhole, and the way was open. It smelled like leather and machine oil and sawdust and smoke altogether here, but, though it was almost unbelievable, this smell was somehow comforting. And returning sureness, at least to Petey. This cellar was full of everything possible - from hand-ruled to automatic mechanisms and from cloth rolls to chunks of wood, even the walls weren't seen behind items hanging on them. Petey didn't even spot Mr. Tardis at first before the familiar top hat construction with a black-and-white headscarf tied around it caught his sight. At first here, in a moment there - this was Mr. Tardis's trademark trick. As well as Idris's.

"Wowsers, you came here all alone. What a progress." Mr. Tardis stood up from the three-legged table and lifted his bronze goggled ont his hat, right over the headscarf. "Anything urgent, Petey-Davey?"

"Can you... can you help me? I'm taking part in a performance, and I... I need a costume."

"Hm, and why did you come to me first of all? I thought you didn't have problems at home."

"I don't!" Petey exclaimed. "I wanna surprise 'em. Tegan and... and Nyssa, and... and I wanna show all those who think you're bad that they're not right."

"Okay. So what kind of performance will it be?"

"Kind of a concert. The story goes on between."

"Aaah, I understood. So whom are you going to be?"

Petey blushed.

"Promise you won't laugh."

"I give you my word."

"Er... Asterix."

"Whoever set you for it was completely right," Mr. Tardis beamed. "And that's not so complicated. If we're lucky, we'll be done by tonight. You need to learn your part, eh? But first..."

He pressed his forefinger to his lips, crept to the doors - and, having made one short and quick movement, straightened himself, holding a little blond girl by her jacket:

"We've got spies here, Petey-Davey!"

"Let me out!" the girl squeaked, twisting and turning in trials either to get out or to give Mr. Tardis a good kick. "Petey!"

"That's not a spy, Mr. Tardis. That's Jenny," Petey explained.

"Jenny? One could believe she's your sis," Mr. Tardis replied and lowered Jenny down onto the floor.

"She's my cousin," Petey added.

Jenny twirled around to see everything hanging on the walls and from the ceiling and then approached to Petey, oblivious to the possible obstacles along her way:

"If you have such place, Mr. Thete, why you sleep in a phone booth?"

"First, it's not 'Thete', it's Mr. Tardis to you," the adult corrected, pursing his lips. "'Thete' is a version for everybody close enough. Second... look over there. See the dark spot?" He pointed at the ceiling, almost completely covered in dark mossy stuff. "Leaky Cauldron, I mean it. Thank goodness it hasn't been flooded here yet. And I can't stand sleeping when the air is moist."

"But everything here can be spoilt, if so," Jenny noticed.

"Not if you know where to put it," Mr. Tardis grinned. "Petey-Davey, if you're going to be Asterix, there's to be a big one too. I mean..."

"Sylv," Petey interfered. "Sylv will be Obelix."

"He asked for the role," Jenny added. "No one forced him."

"Ah, I know what you mean. And you, Jenny? Who will you be? Panacea?"

Jenny played with the tip of her blond ponytail:

"N-no. I'll be Luna Lovegood."

"Isn't that a character from another story?" Mr. Tardis's brows hid under his insane hat.

"It'll be a crossy... crissy... over," Petey pointed out. "With magic potion."

Mr. Tardis pulled a huge wooden container - either a huge box or a small chest - with iron-clad corners from the chaos around him, opened it, and the kids saw that it was full of cloth patches, spools of multi-colored threads, pins, buttons and other stuff needed for sewing.

"Say, it'll be more interesting if you make and do something by yourselves, eh? Don't make scared eyes. I'll teach you."

* * *

"You've been forbidden to hang out with this dirty hobo."

"Tegan, honestly, I didn't!" Petey objected, looking at her with honest eyes.

"You're all so crystal-clear, Petey, it's always seen when you try to tell lies. Now go to your room and think!"

No slaps, thank you, Petey thought and trudged to his room, not knowing what to do. He didn't have features of his pre-school mates: for instance, he wasn't sneaky like John 'Simmy' Simm and his cousin-sister-whoever Michelle 'Missy', or clever like his namesake Peter-Eyebrows, or oh-so-cutely-funny like Tom-Stripy-Scarf. So he couldn't butter Tegan up, or just cheekily leave, or think of a clever exit...

Petey took hold of a cricket bat standing in the corner (its height nearly matched his own), tossed his favourite red ball which he always carried around into the wall and hit it with the bat, so it flew back. Once more, once more.

"PETEY!"

The boy tossed the bat and the ball under his bed and climbed onto it. Yes, everything is allowed when silent. Silent, silent, silent... The idea of surprise seemed silly for a moment. But Mr. Tardis... Oh, that Mr. Tardis! Petey shook the paper bag the 'dirty hobo' had given him from his small backpack onto the bed and stared at it. This was the unfinished costume for the performance: Mr. Tardis had given him and Jenny the 'home task' of attaching some details.

At least this wouldn't cause trouble.

* * *

"Petey-Davey! Are you afraid that you'll be teased? Let's see who'll be the last one to laugh when it comes to reality." Mr. Tardis examined the result of Petey's trials to attach the enormous buckle to the belt. "No one's going to mend their pants if they climb over a fence and tear a hole right over their butts..."

"There are bullies," Jenny put in, glad that she could rest from sewing a small Ravenclaw symbol onto the front of the cloak she was holding. "They always say that Petey is a sissy. What's that?"

"Heeee-yuck! I hate it when they say so." Mr. Tardis reassuringly patted Petey's cheek, having left a spot of machine oil on it (before that he had been busy fixing an old sewing machine). "They called you a girl. But girls are strong too. We're all such, just different... That's quite fine, Jenny, but your stitches are a bit too huge. Try to make them smaller."

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Jenny curled like a question mark over her handwork in attempts to accomplish this statement.

Mr. Tardis gestured her to keep silent, tip-toed to the tiny window under the cellar's ceiling and peeked out. Petey and Jenny strained their ears and soon heard the sound of small wheels against the pavement and a familiar little voice whose owner was singing at the top of his lungs:

"I'm siiinging in the raaaaaain! Just siiiiinging in the rain! What a gloreee-awws feeling! I'm happy agaaaaaain!"

In a moment there were two more kids in the room. Those were bowtie buddies Matt and Patrick (the first was carrying a scooter), panting, but cheerful.

"Hi Mr. Tardis! Hi Petey! Hi Jenny!" Matt exclaimed - today he was so energized that he couldn't help bouncing even now, when there was no place to run around. "Ooh, what are you doin' there? Preparing for the performance?"

To his surprise, this time Patrick acted quicker than he did. He walked up to Petey, gathered a handful of long feathers prepared for the famous winged hat and began attaching them to the base.

"How do you know how this is done?" Jenny wondered.

"Jamie taught me," Patrick replied. "He mends musical instruments a lot, and he showed me how to fix things... Mr. Tardis?"

"That's something you could've done as well, Mattie," Mr. Tardis noticed and pressed on the tip of Matt's nose. Matt attempted to look if there was a spot left (there was), but only managed to cross his eyes. "You know what I think, Patrick? Those feathers could move. You know this gag."

"Gag?"

"Yeah. A joke. A little silly matter that raises your mood..." Mr. Tardis pulled a rectangular vial from the box in front of him. "Petey-Davey!"

"Mm?"

"You have no face with fear. I could help you."

"How?"

Mr. Tardis almost pushed the vial into Petey's face:

"Know what it is? The Satanarchaeolidealcohellish Notion Potion! Or its good double."

"Sat-ha-what?" Matt, who for now was polishing a slender wooden wand required for Jenny, sat up straight.

"Take a sip, make a wish, and it'll come true!" Mr. Tardis shook the vial, so the liquid in it went bubbly. "Immediately, I'd say. I think it'll come in handy for you."

"Looks like Sylv is not the only one who's going to taste a potion," Jenny whispered to Patrick.

* * *

Flap-flap-flap-flap-flap. Flap-flap-flap-flap-flap.

The blasted winged helmet slipped over Petey's eyes once more. No matter how hard they had tried to make its base of proper size, it would get stuck against the kid's nose bridge after every five steps... especially when half-walking, half-running in such toony fashion, flapping his feet (in giant soft-soled shoes) against the floor.

"You're like a boiling kettle, Petey." Sylvester, Petey's friend who was in his performance attire as well (which included white-and-blue striped pants almost reaching his armpits, filled with soft cloth from the inside, so he seemed even chubbier than he really was), walked up to him and shook his head to get the red braids of his ginger wig off his face. "Calm down."

"Sorry if I'll drop you, Sylv."

"You won't."

"We'll be the victims, if something," two voices followed, and the twins David and John, already in their Gryffindor-styled robes and with hair temporarily dyed ginger, stepped in. They weren't worried. On the contrary. Especially David, who was head over hills in love with his new image.

"Come on, it's going to begin in some minutes." Jenny glanced from behind the door and immediately blushed: she had a thing for David since they had first met. "Petey, your wings are sticking up."

After the check-up was made, the team set up to the stage. Petey was walking behind everybody, and when no one was watching, quickly pulled Mr. Tardis's vial from his pocket and took a sip from it. That was something like a wishy-washy lemonade, but the boy didn't care.

"I want everything to be fine. I want everything to be fine. I want everything to be fine."

Like that. And only like that.

* * *

The plot of the performance wasn't complicated, though it included quite a bit of crossover. It went on like that: two mini versions of two world-famous Gauls (Petey and Sylvester) accidentally appeared at Hogwarts, where Fred and George Weasley (David and John - or John and David? No matter!) were preparing the newest type of potion for masterly mischief; then Luna Lovegood would add something from herself into this potion, not knowing what its purpose was, and then... and then there would be the most difficult part. At least for Petey.

First interludes between dance sequences went on smoothly. Even the winged helmet didn't get down. But now, after all, it was about helping Sylvester get onto the giant cauldron (Paul, aka Music Kid, was the one who had helped to find it) to 'get the swallow of potion'. And, as far as Petey was 'petey-fully' weak, while Sylvester was tubby by himself, it wasn't the easiest task.

"It's going to be hee-lah-ree-os if that cauldron falls over." Peter, Matt's stepbrother, crossed his arms at this sight, and Matt made up the biggest smile as if he expected Petey and Sylvester, who were completely entangled in the process, to see him, though it wasn't possible among so many faces. But don't they say that friends are seen from a thousand miles?..

But the 'hee-lah-ree-os' part didn't follow. The correct one did: as it was required, Sylvester managed to hold himself on the edge of the cauldron for needed time and then... then there was a genuine 'Splosh!'. Too bright to be untrue.

Petey did his best to hide his anxiety until the end of the interlude. And what did he see when he finally reached the enormous 'old-fashioned pan' (the twins called it this way) pulled behind the stage? Mr. Tardis with Sylvester, who was wrapped in an orange blanket, in his arms. And Idris was there as well.

"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold!" Sylvester muttered, cluttering his teeth. Indeed, it wasn't too warm here, and besides drops of water were falling from his black hair (the wig now was the part of the mess in the corner).

"You friend appears to have gotten into a wet situation," Idris informed. If she didn't mix up tenses, that meant that she was either nervous or truly tense (what a bad pun, almost tautology).

Petey blinked, confused.

"And how did YOU get here?" he finally managed to say.

"Oh, we two know how to be invisible," Mr. Tardis replied. "The question is who filled the cauldron with ice cold water... How are you feeling, Sylvester?"

"Better now," Sylvester mumbled, having stopped shivering. "That's Simmy! I know that's Simmy!"

"No, that's not Simmy," Idris interfered. "I see... will see... saw Simmy and Missy too among the audience. They couldn't have sneaked here... Oh..."

"What's that, Idris?" Mr. Tardis asked.

"Anybody knows who the particularly nasty-looking girl with red hair like this..." Idris moved her hands around her head, indicating puffy hairstyle, "...is? I saw her sneaking out of here five minutes ago."

"Aaaaargh!" Sylvester shook himself out of Mr. Tardis's grasp (his stuffed pants and the blanket softened the landing). "I know who did it now!"

In a moment he was gone, having left Petey in utter confusion.

"I did not see that coming!" Mr. Tardis exclaimed. "Well, Petey-Davey? Did you use the Notion Potion?"

"Em... yeah..."

"Know what's the trick? There's no secret ingredient! You did it all by yourself!"

Petey stood still for thirty seconds before he understood the meaning of this.

"Good luck with the next time, Peteyrix," Idris chuckled and ruffled his hair.

* * *

**References:**

**1) The plot of the performance is half-based on the short story How Obelix Fell into the Magic Potion When He Was a Little Boy.**  
**2) Matt singing Singing in the Rain while riding a scooter is a reference to his real-life double taking part in Top Gear ("Okay, okay, calm down. I'm siiiiiinging in the raaaaaain..."). Just watch it!**  
**3) Jenny calls Mr. Tardis 'Thete' (short from 'Time-o-thee') - remember Theta Sigma matter?**  
**4) The Notion Potion's full name is borrowed from Michael Ende's story The Night of Wishes.**  
**5) The girl who had performed the 'wet surprise' for Sylvester is the Rani's double. After all, it needed to be done.**


	7. Easy as Pi

**A/N: This was written as a birthday present for Artdirector123, the one who thought of Toddler Who AU. And - nope, no one and nothing is forgotten.**

* * *

The ginger man with a wee bit crossed blue eyes moved his crazy top hat onto the back of his head and placed the large book he was holding onto the table for everyone to see it.

"That's it. I think I've found the needed recipe," he announced. "We're going to bake a fine cake for her. This one." He pointed at the picture describing a cube-shaped cake with five Pokemon figurines sitting on its sides and top. "Everyone agrees?"

"Who-hoa, it'll be a pity to eat 'em," Patrick noticed, pointing at the picture. "They're pretty."

"I'll take it as yes," Mr. Tardis said. "We've got recipe, now we need a kitchen. And there's quite a lack of time - it's to be done by tonight. Anybody has a free kitchen?"

"I can try to handle that." Matt raised his hand. "I can ask River, and her Mummy can help us."

"Don't forget that adults don't like hobos."

Yes, Simmy was there to spoil all the fun. But Mr. Tardis wasn't offended by that.

"Yeah, I'm a hobo, but I that doesn't mean I like being dirty. Next: we need ingredients." He moved his finger along the list. "What about this?"

"I can bring flour," Colin-Rainbow-Blast noticed. "There's so much at home that no one will see."

"Sugar!" Tom-Stipy-Scarf exclaimed. "Sugar and..." he peeked into the list and squealed with delight: "Jelly!"

"No eating in the process," Mr. Tardis tutted. "I warn you... and this is about you too, Sylv."

Sylvester, who was already smacking his lips in anticipation, let out a small 'aww'.

"Next... condensed milk. Anybody has a can?"

Almost all kids shrugged. Mr. Tardis nibbled on the tip of his pencil:

"From tricky ingredients we also will need cherries and cocoa. I suppose there will be eggs and sour cream, eh?"

"I'll bring cocoa," Jon offered.

"Right then... What else?" Mr. Tardis ticked most of the lines in his list. "Well, almost all." Then he produced a handful of coins and banknotes and placed them onto the table. "Reserve! Matt, Peter, can you take care of our potential cooking place? It's too dirty and wet here."

"What's potentee-all?" Matt asked.

"MAYBE," his stepbrother Peter replied, glaring at him.

"Okay!"

Now it was little Petey who started the action by getting a coin out of his pocket, flipping it (he loved flipping coins and always figured out tricks with this, including Mr. Turlough's one with a two-headed coin) and then placing onto the table next to Mr. Tardis.

"What. Is. That?" the oldest one asked.

"It's not right. All together right," Petey replied.

* * *

The shoppers were turning their heads to look at the man in long-suffering clothes surrounded by four toddlers which were not going to stop at any price. Only one of them, the little blond guy (his hair was nearly white, to be frank), was behaving calmly.

"Billy, go bring a can of condensed milk, will you?" the maybe-Mad-Hatter asked this very kid, and he nodded and walked to the needed shelf. "Paul, find the container with frozen cherries, Chris, you get icing, and you, Sylv, find some brown sugar."

"Look, what good boys," one of the 'mommy shoppers' (of the type that would never lose a chance to teach their children a lesson) noted to her daughter (a bit younger than those children). "They obey adults and... Don't stare at me like that! Ones like you should be isolated!"

The latest referred to Mr. Tardis whose curiosity played not the best joke with him.

"Why like that? I'm not a thief, I'm just shopping here, just like you," he replied.

"He'll eat you!" the 'mommy' suddenly yelped: her descenant got interested in Mr. Tardis's self-made belt with instruments for every kind of work. "Bad tramp! He'll eat Louise!"

"Mr. Tardis is the best, and you're an evil crocodile." Billy, who already returned, said that without any tension or teasing intonation, but that was enough for the 'mommy's' jaw to hang down. "Don't worry, Mr. Tardis. You're the best."

Mr. Tardis made up a toothy grin and approached to the section of frozen products. A whole performance was going on there. Paul was attempting to fill a plastic bag with frozen cherries, but some specifically active younglings (one of them was surely Ramon Salamander, the kid who happened to share his appearance, but not his character with Patrick) were doing their best in keeping him away from the container, while the adult shoppers were too busy to pay any attention.

Luckily when the aggressors saw Mr. Tardis approaching, they were gone for good. Thanks for this at least. Chris was already going to shoot the found icing at them.

* * *

The second act of the play began quite successfully. Mrs. Williams, unlike most of the adults, knew that Mr. Tardis always kept his word, and therefore allowed him and the kids to use her kitchen while she and her husband were out. However, River and Mels were put in charge for him... or no, not for him, for the possible shenanigans of all the kids present here.

Mr. Tardis was prepared for everything. To start it, he made everybody wash their hands and take kid-sized aprons on (only Matt, whose one was decorated with small bowties, was glad about it), and soon the kitchen was abuzz with action. But everybody knows what can take place in case of many little kids and one adult in one room, no words about 'the most dangerous place in the house'. At first the twins David and John partly turned into brown-eyed ghosts after one of them dropped a pack of flour. Then Simmy, Mels and Colin had a small fight about the baking forms (they didn't know which one was bigger). Tom didn't close the blender lid firmly enough, so part of the dough splashed him in the face, and Patrick cut his finger while attempting to open that very can of condensed milk. Jon, Chris, Billy and Paul were sitting at the table, making Pokemon figurines from marshmallows and icing, so they avoided these small, but itchy moments.

After all the mixing, breaking, pouring, adding, blending and spreading the kids looked as if they had been to a pie factory without being too tidy. Having brought them to the bathroom one by one, Mr. Tardis allowed River to take care of them and returned to the kitchen, where the carving quartet was finishing their masterpieces.

"That's fine, boys," he approved and checked the cake. "I'm sincere. Those are pretty good... Sacre-bleu!"

The final phrase referred to the kids, who were returning to the room - all soaking wet, except for Sylvester, as if they were having a bath and a clothes washing all together.

"Riveeeeeeeer!" Mr. Tardis groaned.

* * *

"...And the final letters."

Peter was the last to write his initials on the prepared cake, using cream tube as a pen. Everybody was already tidied up, though the room looked as if struck by hurricane, and there was too little time left. When the last free patch of the cake was decorated with tangled PC letters, Mr. Tardis nodded and grinned.

"Right-o, now it's high time to go. Everybody coming?"

The group quickly left - they had to clean the house before Mrs. Williams could return. But now it was all about congratulations.


	8. The Twin Trouble

**A/N: Double trouble, hmph.**

* * *

"Double, double, I'm in trouble," Sylvester muttered to himself. He did not remember how he had managed to climb up here, but the truth was that he was clinging to a tree branch, holding on it with both arms and legs and not knowing what to do next. Perhaps he had got so scared or so determined to escape that it all had worked before he could've understood that.

"Hahaha! Hahaha! Look out world, the bag of nuts is going to flop any minute!"

Sylvester knew this voice. And he knew that there were two who shared it.

"You're not Patrick! You're Ramon!" he shouted, attempting to sound threatening and wishing it hadn't been such squeak.

"I'm not Ramon! I'm Sa-la-man-der!"

The kid with dark fringe combed to the side lolled his tongue at Sylvester and was gone, satisfied with his trick. But he didn't know it wouldn't last long - hardly had Sylvester begun to wonder after how much time he was going to plummet down when the side branches shook.

"Stand on all fours and crawl backwards," someone advised from behind.

"I cannot, I will fall," Sylvester mumbled.

"Come on, this branch is strong. You won't."

Slowly, one move after another and attempting not to look down, Sylvester did what was required and only then realized that now he was sitting on the branch with his back against the tree's trunk, and that there was another person on the neighbour branch.

"I told you," the odd boy said.

Sylvester turned his head and almost fell down. Either this risky climbing affected his mind or... in any case, it was a repeated situation, because the boy next to him could be his reflection: the same big blue eyes, dark hair (but Sylvester's was shorter and sticking up at its ends, and this boy's was scruffy and dirty), elfin-looking face and chubby stature.

"Double, double, I'm in trouble," Sylvester repeated.

"I thought that Mander boy was more trouble than me," the 'mirror boy' pouted.

Sylvester decided that this company was any better than Ramon's, and reached his hand out to the kid.

"Sylvester."

"Radagast," the kid replied. "Now laugh."

"Why?"

"Everybody laughs when I say my full name."

"That's no good. It's... nice."

"Really?"

"Really-really." Sylvester glanced down, thinking how he was going to get there, but his pondering was interrupted:

"I'll help you. But not now. Mander may be lurking nearby."

He was right: in about half a minute Ramon appeared down there again, this time chasing the mischievous siblings Simmy and Missy. Oh, well, if he could get them, then it was really serious.

"How did you know?" Sylvester marvelled.

"A bird told me," Radagast replied.

* * *

"Don't look at us this way," David said when a dizzy-looking man stared at him and his twin brother John while they and their sitter Rose were enjoying a day in the town park. "We really are i-deen-te-kal."

"What, all four of you?!" the man exclaimed in return.

The boys and Rose burst out laughing, but not for a long time: the man pointed at something behind them, his face expressing utter horror, and darted away.

All three turned their heads, but saw no one.

"Bad joking, boys," Rose said. "A typical plot."

But along the way some more people followed them with their looks, and some didn't even hide surprise (at least). And the boys set a plan without even discussing it - they didn't need to when they were together. If there were pranksters, then at some moment they would have to show themselves with a teeny weeny something... and it took place when David smelled ice cream, John heard something rustling, both turned around and grabbed two boys as short as themselves by the sleeves.

"Hey, unfair!" the first prankster yelped.

"For true!" the second prankster added. Wait a minute. The first? The second? David and John (and Rose too) were astonished when they realized they were holding themselves. Or they thought so. Both boys had scruffy dark hair sticking up in front and huge huge brown eyes, and freckles too, but were dressed differently: the one with a half-eaten ice cream cone (the one whom David had caught) was in a blue tee, jeans and dark jacket, and the second one (John's catch) was dressed in a red shirt with lace on its sleeves and classic black pants.

"What, can't we play some pranks?" the first boy asked, licking the remains of ice cream off his lips. "If there are more ones like us..."

"First of all, where are your parents?" Rose asked.

"I live over there." The first boy pointed at the line of houses next to the park entrance.

"So do I," the second boy approved. "We moved here some days ago."

"It doesn't give you the right of wandering here alone, I suppose," Rose replied.

"And what are your names, then?" David asked.

"I'm Carlisle, he's Giac," the first boy said and pushed the remains of the cone into his mouth. "And if you want real pranks, go ask Curry. He's cool at this."

"Nah," Giac objected. "Curry thinks he's all so cool, and he's not."

"Who's Curry?" the twins asked simultaneously.

"Ask Salt-Peter!" Carlisle snapped and chuckled.

* * *

"They no believe me an'more!" Patrick yelped, not letting go of the cushion he was holding with both hands - just in case, he didn't want to break or spoil anything. "I no Mander!"

"That Salamander kid is completely out of order, aye?" Jamie asked and rolled his eyes. "Did he really hurt you this much?"

"He always breaks everything at pre-school, and almost everyone says it's me," Patrick whimpered.

"Doesn't anyone believe you?"

"Matt believes. And Sylv too. Peter no talks to me, and..."

"You know what? I'll teach you how to show everyone you're innocent."

"How? Mander even dresses like me... when everybody sees him..."

"Do like this. When you enter the room full of people who doubt that you're you, whistle a song." Jamie whistled the beginning of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. "I doubt that a kid like Ramon Salamander would do it."

"Really?"

"Do you want to know a secret?"

Patrick nodded.

"All the stupidest things in the world are made with serious face. Show that you're not so stupid. I just know that your Mander won't be able to imitate YOUR laughter."

* * *

Matt was sitting in the corner of his bed, cuddled with his favourite toy Mr. Giraffe. Yes, he knew that his stepbrother Peter was clever (though he didn't like to laugh and to play with other kids most of the time), but not till this term. The phone rang for fourth time, but Matt was too offended to take the receiver.

However, his gloomy guesses appeared to be wrong when his nanny Clara finally returned.

"Why didn't you pick the phone up?" she asked from the very beginning. "I've gone nervous that you weren't at home!"

"Peter pranked me," Matt muttered, his cheeks covered in deep blush.

"What?!" Peter's curly head popped from behind large paper bag he was carrying. "I was with Clara all the time, and I didn't prank you."

"What do you mean, Matt?" Clara asked patiently, getting the bags to the kitchen.

"Someone called by the phone and spoke in spooky voice," Matt explained. "It was... it was like Peter's voice, but it was... em... silly deep."

"Matt, Peter didn't call you. He was with me all this time, and I would've noticed if he wanted to pull your leg," Clara assured. "But I doubt that he would do that in any case."

"Then who called me? He called me Bat Smith!" Matt exclaimed. "And Rat Smith, and Mad Smith! And..."

"That kid is a nut, he thinks he's tricky butt," Peter interfered. "Whom do we have around here that can speak in spooky voice? Wait. Matt, did he speak like..." he frowned (Matt snorted with laughter, his offence reducing) and spoke in a deep husky voice: "...this? Earth - Matt, Earth - Matt... Take me to your leader!"

"Yesyesyes!" Matt shot out, running together with him from table to fridge, putting the food to its proper place. "Just like you!"

"Maybe it was one of those Team Bad Boys?" Clara supposed. "Careful, Matt, there are eggs in that bag! I mean, it could be Ramon Salamander or one of his sidekicks..."

"We know Mander, it couldn't be him," Peter objected and only then heard all phrase again. "Did you say 'sidekicks'? I've never seen any sidekicks with him!"

"Well, if this is Ramon Salamander I'm thinking about, I saw him wandering around here yesterday. He was with two more boys. One of them had yellow curls, like your mate Colin, and the other was spiky-haired. I didn't see more."

"Spiky-haired?" Matt and Peter echoed and turned their head to each other. Then Peter spoke on his own: "That couldn't be Colin. Yes, he's a meanie, but Mander teases him too, and Colin never joins teasers..."

* * *

"Look to the right, Sylvester. See two running?" Radagast pointed at two short silhouettes scampering directly to the chestnut tree on which the 'double trouble' was located. Sylvester still couldn't believe that he had agreed to do that. Radagast was fine, he was used to climbing trees (this was surprising with such tubby stature!), and the second one was fearing that the branch under them would crack any moment. "You know who they are? Ooooooh, they're wicked!"

Sylvester squinted and jerked so hard that he nearly flopped down: he could swear that the duet approaching to them consisted of David - or John, he never quite cared who was who of those twins - and Colin. But then he recalled that the twins never let hissing sounds out together with tongue-spitting, and Colin preferred colorful outfits, not monochromatic.

"These are Bartie Crouch and Max Eel," Radagast whispered. "Mander's chaps. You'll be as good as lost if you meet them three together."

"And you met 'em all together?" Sylvester asked.

"More than once. Bartie loves dirty tricks. Soapy water in the eyes is nothing. Max does everything he's told, no matter good or bad, and now he obeys Mander... Huh?" Radagast turned his head, listening to something that only he could hear. "Uh-oh. There could be four of them."

"Four?"

"Someone around here loves phone-pranking. Do you know anyone who likes it?"

"N-no. But..." Sylvester rubbed his chin, wondering if he should tell it, "...I know someone who knows everything about phones and phone booths."

Meanwhile, Bartie and Max stopped under their tree - one in front, the other behind, as if they were never going to let anyone come close to it. Or prepared for non-existent sneak attack.

"Now we're not going to get down before there are four of them," Sylvester muttered, praying for them not to look up and see two chubby dark-topped boys.

But Radagast grinned at him:

"I'll help you. I'll get them away from here, and you'll go to your phone master."

"They will get you!" Sylvester yelped and stuffed his fist into his mouth. Bartie and Max froze, listening for extra noises, but then their attention was turned to the road again.

"I'd like to see them try."

And indeed, in some moments Radagast was running like a rabbit, laughing at the top of his lungs and yelling "CATCH ME!", as if he had done this a million times. Naturally, it was too much for the 'evil duet', and they lost no time in chasing him.

Sylvester, trembling from head to toes, flopped onto the pavement (thank goodness the branch wasn't too high from it) and hurried to the place where he hoped to find the mentioned one. He felt his feet under him only when began banging at the door of a blue phone box with both fists.

"Huh? Whoa! Br-br-br-br-br!"

It didn't last long: pretty soon Sylvester found himself hanging in the air in an absolutely helpless position. However, landing wasn't delayed.

"My word, have you all decided to give me a bad hair day?" The man who appeared to be a steampunk version of Mad Hatter in blue shades yawned once again and combed his petal-like ginger hair with his fingers, tucking it under his insane top hat with bronze goggles over its brim. "I've just begun getting a lovely nap... you know what it is to paint all... aaaaaahhhhh... night long? Totally grandiose..."

"Sorry Mr. Tardis," Sylvester muttered. "I was a bit scared. Almost plummeted to my death."

"It's not only about plummeting." Mr. Tardis grabbed the kid by the back of his jumper decorated with question mark patterns and began shaking dust and dirt off him with his free hand. "I don't think you're the one who likes tree-climbing."

"Mr. Tardis, you saw anyone who calls from phone booths and pranks others?" Sylvester decided to go straightly to the theme, though it wasn't easy in such position.

Mr. Tardis half-dropped him (third plummeting this hour, Sylvester thought) and put his fingertips together in concern.

"Hardly anybody calls from phone booths nowadays," he mused. "But I think if I can reverse the polarity of the phone flow... Wait here!" He darted into the box again and slammed the door, so Sylvester's heart sunk - he didn't want to stay all alone. But he didn't have to wait long: Mr. Tardis emerged from the box again, this time with some odd device in his hands. "Come along, Sylv, it's time to make some phone calls."

* * *

"I see there's quite a lot of doubles around here recently," Jamie muttered, reassuringly patting Paul on the dirt-stained shoulder - the latter one had almost become the victim of Bartie's and Max's chase when they had realized their previous aim to be uncatchable. "Shush, they're not going to get you here, wee lad."

Paul only spluttered something unintelligible, and Partick, who was here as well, whistled the well-known tune to prove that he was himself. When he got a nod as a reply, he walked up to the window to check if the duo was still there.

The duo wasn't, the trio was.

"Jamie, they got themselves another friend," Patrick informed, nervously pulling at his bowtie, and pressed his nose to the glass, attempting to see clearly who was watching the newly formed trio from the closest bush.

* * *

Sylvester didn't understand what was going on - he just followed Mr. Tardis to the first still-working phone booth, then to the other, then to the third. Who would use them?.. But when it came to the fourth, Mr. Tardis hushed at the kid and mouthed "See?", pointing at the box. And, truly, there was someone inside - someone small, standing on a pile of boxes.

"Trick or treat, smell my feet!" Mr. Tardis yelped, jerked the door open and in a moment was standing with another potential 'plummeter', as Sylvester called him in his mind. At first sight he thought that it was Peter-Eyebrows, grumpy but clever Matt's stepbrother, but then the obvious difference showed itself: Peter's hair was in tight curls and more of light than dark shade, while this kid's was straighter and darker, and not too clean. And there was no silly cape which Peter loved wearing - instead, there was a baggy shirt and pants with suspenders splattered with ink. "Anonymous calls, Peter ?"

"I'm not any Peter or Mark-Too," the boy replied, arms crossed (Sylvester had no idea how it was possible in this upside-down position). "I'm Curry."

"Yeah? Well, I'm the lord of phone booths," Mr. Tardis replied, tossed him up and caught him by the collar.

"Caecilius is a boring name. Curry's better." This trick seemingly caused no emotional reaction.

"Say, Curry, why were you pranking strangers?"

"Searched for those nasty kids who bullied others, but I dialled wrong all the time," Curry admitted. "These phone booths..."

"There are no THESE or THOSE phone booths here. They are all MINE," Mr. Tardis underlined. "And I highly recommend you to stop it, Pepper."

"Curry!"

"Almost worked. Spicy stuff, that orange powder," Mr. Tardis smirked. "Hmm, I believe you could really help us with shutting those little geeks up... before their number grows. I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

"If that was a prank again, I don't care who did it," Peter muttered, approaching to the door of Mr. Tardis's working cellar. But as soon as it creaked open, the group of children led by him and Matt stopped, blinking at four 'mirror images': scruffy other Sylvester, other Peter in baggy clothes and other twins - one with an ice cream cone, the other in laced shirt.

"Meet Rad, Curry, Carlisle and Giac," Mr. Tardis announced, dancing around the room stuffed with everything. "Twins are not only bad, you know. Four versus four, equal amount."

"Four?" David and John echoed.

"I saw that Mander's gang grew," Patrick informed. "There are Mander, Bartie, Max and-and-and... I dunno his name, but he looks like our Paul."

"Fireworks!" Colin exclaimed. "Is that Max Eel? Aha! I know who that kid is if there's Max Eel! That's Zack Reuss!"

"Zack Reuss? It doesn't fit you, Paulie," Mr. Tardis chuckled, but then pursed his lips in concentration (Paul began tugging his shirt's collar after this). "If they use their similarity to you, you could do it as well. And even better."

"But it's not only about appearance, Mr. Tardis," Patrick pointed out. "Jamie says that Mander cannot laugh like me."

"That's it! This is why all of you will take part. If a person is guilty, he should be punished, eh? David, John, Paul, Peter, Patrick, Sylv, you'll help me with some handwork. Curry, get the phone numbers of those four, and please be correct. Rad, Matt, keep an eye out for them. Giac, Carlisle, Colin, get a closer look of them. I need to know all the details. All of them, I mean it, but make it possible for you not to be seen... and finish your ice cream, Carlisle."

Carlisle froze, the cone halfway to his mouth, and Matt snickered at his goldfish-like expression.

* * *

"Stop sulking at me," Curry asked for the thousandth time while turning pages of a giant phone book. "I didn't mean anyfing wrong."  
Peter let out a 'hmph!', waiting for his double to make a 'good prank'. Radagast, who was here a well, was almost burning with excitement - he couldn't wait till he could 'bash their brains', as he had said.

"Here." Curry climbed onto the pile of boxes to reach the phone (the trio managed to fit into Mr. Tardis's phone box together), dialled the number and waited. Peter and Radagast strained their ears and then covered their mouths with their hands not to let their laughter burst out - Curry started talking in a deep husky voice: "This is an anonymous call..."

"I'll kill him if he dialled our phone number," Peter whispered between the giggles. But this time Curry was sure that he got the right one: having dropped the receiver, he nearly fell off the box tower with laughter. When it reduced, Radagast climbed over to him and, hardly had someone with little cheeky voice (Curry must have dialled Max Eel's house) said 'Hello' on the other side, began shouting:

"Theft! Fire! Murder!"

Only after that Curry began instructing Max what to do, as he had done during the first call.

* * *

"That's not me," Patrick muttered, looking down at himself: his new clothing was a bit of 'army fashion', as Mr. Tardis had called it. David, John, Carlisle and Giac were all dressed in black cloaks and ripped pants, while Colin was grimacing at his reflection dressed in red. Only Paul avoided being masqueraded, because it appeared that Zack was dressed almost the same with him (at least today).

"That's right. If those four see themselves - I mean, you dressed and behaving like them - I doubt that they'll stay indifferent," Mr. Tardis replied. "Do you want to know a secret? Most teasers are afraid of being teased. But we're not going to do that, just tickle their heels..."

"They here!" Matt, panting and red-faced, rolled downstairs into the cellar (the door was open, otherwise he would've turned into a pancake against it). "They here!"

"First you, Patrick!" Mr. Tardis announced. The boy obeyed, attempting to get all unpleasant thoughts out of his mind, but they were gone by themselves as soon as he was at daylight again.

Salamander had lost no time: now he was followed by four boys - Bartie, Max, Zack and one more, who looked suspiciously like MMM (Main Mischief Maker) Simmy, but had dark hair instead of blond. But as soon as he caught the sight of 'another him', he stopped, and his 'helpers' also did.

"Twinkle, twinkle, other me, don't believe the things you see!" Patrick sang, having made a foolish face. "Up above the world we fly, like the Gemini in the sky!" (To be honest, he had the slightest idea what Gemini was - Mr. Tardis had taught him to sing this, and this seemed like the best idea for now).

Now it's your turn, Patrick thought, not even turning back - inside he was too afraid that the gang would catch him. But the 'quadruplets' - eight brown eyes, four scruffy hairstyles, eight quick feet - didn't make anyone wait for them.

"What the..." Bartie bounced from right to left, like a football goalie unsure from where the ball will appear. "They're me!"

"Catch me, Bartie!" Carlisle - and that was him, Patrick didn't have a moment's doubt about that - thumbed his nose (the tip of which was covered in dried remains of his ice cream) at Bartie.

Colin hurried afterwards and momentarily made Max chase him - no one blew raspberries at curly 'sun pieces' without a punishment. And only then it was Paul's turn.

"And what will you do? Bang me with your violin?" Zack snapped.

Paul made up a kindly smile and glanced at the rest of the gang, which turned into a complete mess: the chase led to complete misunderstanding of who was who. Only Carlisle's cream-stained nose made him different among the four identical boys in identical clothing, and as about the rest... But not for Paul. Yes, he wasn't as quick or strong as his mates, but he was attentive and now for sure knew who was who.

"Where's Mander?" he asked. "I see it, and you?"

* * *

Clara was the first to arrive and finish - or at least temporarily stop - the mess involving couples of non-inborn twins. While Matt was telling her about everything going on (not taking a breath during the process), Peter managed to sneak away and was attempting to open the door of the closest phone booth. Why?..

The arrival of more guardians only increased the situation, as the kids decided to escape (not only the mischief makers, but the 'avengers' as well). It's unknown what it would finish like if it were not for the well-known madman entering the scene.

"Time-o-thee Alistair Rassilon Doxter Ivan Smith at your service!"

"You'd better not put your big head here," hissed Mrs. Sidrat, the guardian of Simmy and his SMS (Seriously Mischievous Siblings), holding her charge by the hood (Simmy wasn't going to allow his double escape).

"Yeah? Then look here!"

The result of the grandiose fight could serve as a low-sort comedy plot: Curry and Radagast had locked themselves in the phone booth and couldn't get out, no matter how hard Peter attempted to open it; Sylvester was sitting under the closest bench; Colin and Max were sitting on tree branches, trying to reach each other and not to fall off at the same time; Salamander and Patrick were stubbornly playing the 'mirror game', so now it was impossible to recognize who of them was who; Paul and Zack were involved in some highly senseless arguing; and as about Carlisle, Giac, David, John and Bartie, it was better not to look at them: they were attempting to figure out who of them was who by shouting "I am Giac!", "I am David!", etc. and changing places. Only Matt preferred to get the shelter of his guardian.

"AAAAAAAAND FREEZE!" Mr. Tardis shouted. The boys knew this game perfectly well and immediately obeyed. Salamander and Patrick froze with their hands in the air, the identical quintet all froze with different grimaces, and Sylvester froze with his fingers in his mouth.

Some of the guardians, the easy-going ones, burst out laughing. Only Mrs. Sidrat hummed in the most scornful way.

"Better than any child-treating nonsense. There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes," Mr. Tardis pointed out and walked up to the black-haired mirror duo. "Unfreeze. Who of you is Patrick?"

"Me!" both boys replied at the same time.

"Hilarious. Twinkle, twinkle, little bat..."

"How I wonder what you're at!" the boy with fringe combed to the right caught up. "Up above the world you fly, like a tea-tray in the sky!"

"See, Mander? Can you do like that?" Mr. Tardis grinned. "Jamie, here's your charge, safe and sound. And as about them..." he waved at the scruffy quintet, "...find your own ways, please."

* * *

**A/N: The 'doubles' of little Doctors are taken from various movies and from 'show copies':**  
**\- Ramon Salamander (Two) is the main antagonist in Second Doctor era episode The Enemy of the World;**  
**\- Radagast (Seven) is the freaky forest wizard from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey;**  
**\- Carlisle (Ten) is the DI from BBC mini-series Blackpool;**  
**\- Giac (Ten-Too) is the main character of BBC mini-series Casanova;**  
**\- Bartie Crouch (also Ten, heehee) is one of the antagonists in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire;**  
**\- Max Eel (Six; correct spelling - Maxil) is one of the Timelords in Fifth Doctor era episode The Ark of Infinity;**  
**\- Caecilius 'Curry' (Twelve) is a combo of DW character Caecilius (The Fires of Pompeii) and Paddington character Mr. Curry;**  
**\- Zack Reuss (Eight; correct spelling - Zagreus) is the Doctor's 'evil half' from DW audio drama of the same name;**  
**\- 'doubled' Simmy (Sixth Master) comes from Harold Saxon and The End of Time Master.**  
**Their behaviour is based on their characters' shenanigans:**  
**1) Carlisle appears with ice cream cone every time, just like his 'real double'.**  
**2) Jamie hints Patrick to whistle a song when others doubt about his identity. Second Doctor did just that to prove that he was himself in the named episode. (One of its versions here is Mad Hatter's song from Alice in Wonderland).**  
**3) Radagast distracts Bartie's and Max's attention, making them chase him and yelling 'Catch me!' - his 'real double' did the same to help the dwarves cover the dangerous path ('I'd like to see them try...'). Later he shouts 'warning' phrases from the movie's earlier moment ("Theft! Fire! Murder!").**  
**4) Curry's love for phone-pranking comes from the scene from Paddington ('This is an anonymous call...').**  
**5) Sylvester's phrase "I almost plummeted to my death" refers to Dragonfire episode ('I understand your disappointment, but I'm about to plummet to my death!').**  
**6) Mr. Tardis's phrases:**  
**\- "Yeah? Well, I'm the lord of phone booths" is a reference to Tenth Doctor's phrase "Yeah? Well, I'm the lord of Time" from The Girl in the Fireplace;**  
**\- "There are no THESE or THOSE phone booths here. They are all MINE" refers to the phrase of Red Queen from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (there it was about paths);**  
**\- "There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes" is Fourth Doctor's quote from Robot.**


	9. That's So Doctor(ish)

**A/N: No, I haven't forgotten about One. Here goes the story featuring him as a leading character.**

* * *

Mr. Williams wasn't ready to say that he was in heaven, but it was close to it. He and his wife Amelia had three kids, all of them girls and two of them (as far as the youngest one was a baby) always getting their own way despite anything, so he couldn't boast that his children were the most obedient in the world (though for someone it's synonymous to 'the best in the world'). And now there was a kid interested in his profession, moreover, eager to learn something about it. It happened so that Mr. Williams had to babysit him for a while, and this came out without a warning, going on constantly.

"Look, Billy. What color is blood?"

"Red, of course." Billy, one of the preschool group mates of Mr. Williams' middle daughter Mels, blinked at him.

"I didn't mean that. What is its shade when you cut your finger, for instance?"

"Emmm... like a red apple," Billy suggested.

"There is a difference when it's about serious harm. And severe wounds should be treated differently, otherwise it's going to make it worse."

"Tell me, please," Billy asked, his dark brown eyes fixed on the anatomy encyclopedia on the shelf just above Mr. Williams' head. "I really-really wanna know. I'm not scared, tell me."

Teens always don't give a damn about first aid lessons, Mr. Williams thought and took the required book from the shelf (Billy was bouncing with impatience).

* * *

"All right! Is everybody here?"

The teacher of possibly the most troublesome group in the town examined her charges, counting them and prepared to figure out who was missing. The group had spent time in the town's garden, exploring the nature's wonders, and their leader was secretly glad that none of the kids had left any disorder or rubbish behind - it all stayed the same way as before. But the group was all wrong way. Two of the kids were missing, for sure...

"Where are Patrick and Billy?" The two stepbrothers - enthusiastic Matt and 'wooden' Peter (it wasn't easy to get into his trust zone) - were the first to figure out who was away. Matt and Patrick were 'bowtie buddies' (Matt helped Patrick, who wasn't as active as him, to get along with the rest, while Patrick showed him lots of things he could make out of stuff in his pockets), and Peter was a good friend of Billy's (both were kind of reserved and didn't like hanging out too much).

"I haven't seen 'em since we came." Colin, the bossy-boots of the group, was the first who decided to keep the blame away from himself. John Simm, aka 'Simmy', the group's mischief maker, crossed his arms and stuck his nose up - 'no way'.

But the lost ones were quickly found. Billy and Patrick half-walked, half-fell from behind the closest rose bush - the latter one almost hung on the first one. That was a pitiful sight: Patrick seemingly couldn't use his left leg - it was dangling over the ground, covered in dirt and scratches - so he was leaning on Billy, stepping with his healthy leg, and on Billy's favourite stick too (he almost always carried a crooked stick around, mainly to hit those who didn't listen), holding it in his free hand.

Upon a closer look it appeared that Patrick's ankle was bandaged with a blue polka-dotted ribbon (which apparently used to be his bowtie) with something soft pushed underneath in the place where his foot met his leg.

"Patrick was sleighing down from a huge sandhill," Billy explained after they returned to preschool and Patrick was brought to the sick bay. "After some times he did it, he landed in such a way that his leg was stuck between two stones in the ground. I helped him to get out, but he was bleeding very much, so I tried to help him."

"How did you know what to do?" Petey, the smallest and the meekest of the group, wondered.

"Mr. Williams taught me," Billy replied. "The blood was cherry red, so it was serious. I used Patrick's bowtie as a bandage and a bit of cotton wool to stop the bleeding."

"Where did you get the cotton wool?" Peter asked.

Billy hesitated.

"David, remember, you gave your ragdoll Rosie to Patrick?.. Had to take some from its inside."

* * *

"I am still right," Billy grumbled, sitting on a 'punishment chair' in the corner. It was the first time he got punished, and the very unfair time as well. Most of the sensible kids - including Matt, Peter, Sylvester, Paul and the rest - had objected against this, but the above-standing adult (not their teacher, thank goodness) had insisted on giving Billy a punishment 'because children should not interfere in adult deals, they only can spoil everything'. "I wonder when they learned all that if they were forbidden like this?.."

However, there was an adult who finished the punishment. It was Patrick's sitter Jamie. To be honest, Billy always suppressed snickering at his sight, because due to some of his odd old-fashioned habits Jamie almost always walked around in a kilt. But this time it was not about laughing.

"Isn't it time for you to go home, Billy?" Jamie asked. "I talked to your teacher, she allowed me to take you home."

"Aren't you angry at me?" Billy marvelled. "Everyone is."

"I've seen badly performed first aid. Yours was not. Stand up and I'll drive you home." Jamie frowned. "But if you prefer sitting here all day..."

"Not all," Billy replied, standing up and following him. "Next time I'm not going to help anybody."

"You are," Jamie nodded, smiling to himself. He knew this kind of kids - grumpy on the outside and with biggest heart inside.


	10. Team Tail

**A/N: A totally CAHHRAZY tale featuring Patrick (Two), real Two and two Jamies (there are loads of twos here...).**

* * *

"Sandshoes! Sandshoes!"

Two spiky-haired boys would've caught the dark-topped kid in swimming trunks with bowtie pattern if it was not for a blond little guy who lost no time in jumping right onto the large running shoe built out of sand.

"No more sandshoes!" John Simm yelped, happily demolishing the remains of Matt's work. "What? I saved Mattie from ya two!"

David and Johnny immediately turned away to chase him, while Matt, having forgotten about his spoilt 'sandshoe', ran to watch Colin and Chris who were having a mock football match. Some of the adults, who were located at the higher point of the beach to watch out for all of them, suspected that Peri and Rose, Colin's and Chris's sitters correspondingly, would soon have to take part in this. Out of all gang only Billy was behaving, sitting with a storybook farther from everyone - he was almost the only kid here who had mastered reading yet.

While the children were having fun in their own ways, little Patrick decided to take a treasure quest. His sitter Jamie had a habit of stuffing his pockets - if he wore things with pockets, for he preferred kilts, much to most people's dismay - and bags with everything he could find: wire bits, ropes, threads, nuts, screws - everything, for he earned a living not only babysitting Patrick, but also mending musical instruments, and this all could come in handy. And after having nicked Treasure Island from his parents' library, Patrick was sure that every beach could hold a treasure, it was important to search only.

Part one worked finely: Patrick managed to sneak away from the group, and for the first time he mentally said thanks to Mels, who had a fight with Simmy for having ruined his sandcastle in revenge for Matt's. This was a nice distraction. But part two threatened to finish before it started: Patrick was running along the seashore until it was quiet around him. The group chose this place because it was secluded and no one was there to spoil the fun... but now it didn't seem such a good idea. Patrick wanted to get away for a moment, but then he caught himself on a thought that it would've been unforgivable to lose such a chance. No one was around - only himself, sea, sand and rocks.

"I'm not doing anything wrong, only looking," Patrick said aloud, gazing at the rocks times higher than highest adults. "Nothing wrong..."

At first it seemed lucky: he found a handful of colorful pebbles and green glass pieces smoothed by the sea, which he quickly hid into his shorts' pockets. After some more searching Patrick saw something shiny right under the closest rock. What could it be? He set off to digging, but before he could've seen what it was, the ground under him begin shaking, and he suddenly found himself falling down.

"Help!" Patrick shrieked - now it was more like sliding down a slimy hill. Luckily the flight wasn't long: the leaning surface was gone, the boy flew a couple of meters and landed with a splash. When the dizziness and fright was gone, he realized that he was sitting in some kind of an underground pond or a well.

"Where did you come from?"

When Patrick's eyes got used to darkness, he realized that there was someone else here. He couldn't see clearly who it was, but his voice sounded benign, and this was something.

"I think from... up there," Patrick replied, looking up in trials to see where the unreachable entrance was.

"Oh my word, I just knew that someone nosy would get here."

"I not nosy," Patrick mumbled. "I was searchin' for a treasure... Will you get me out of here? Please?"

"I suppose I could. Can you swim?"

"N-no..."

"That's bad news. And can you hold?"

"Of course," Patrick nodded.

"That's good news. Come here and hold..."

Patrick obeyed, having clutched two folds of fabric over the stranger's shoulders.

"Now hold tightly and don't let go at any price, if you don't want to drown."

At the first moment Patrick almost let go because the stranger darted forwards too briskly. Wow, no one could swim so fast! - he thought. And 'riding' like this through darkness and water appeared to be creepy, but thrilling as well. Anyway, when there was a hint of daylight, Patrick's heart was ready to rip out of his chest.

They ended up in a cave half-filled with water. It was a beautiful place and also perfect for hiding treasures, but Patrick wasn't thinking about this anymore.

"Well, I got you out, child," the stranger said. Now it was possible to see what he was like. He had a shock of thick jet-black hair and pale blue eyes, and signs of age as well - eyebags and skin folds which hinted about being able to smile. He was wearing some kind of a white tee with elbow-length sleeves, and the rest wasn't seen because he was leaning on a rock on which Patrick was sitting. "Who-hoa, you do remind me of someone. What's your name?"

"Patrick," the boy replied, having caught his breath.

"And I'm the Doctor," the stranger said.

"Where are we?"

"A small island not far from the shore. It was the only way from the well into which you fell. Guess there was someone who didn't care about kids' safety when hiding it."

"And what were you doing there?"

"Searching," the Doctor said. "Just like you. Searching for a particularly nasty beast."

"Beast? Are there beasts here?"

"Don't worry, I've already taken care of it."

"Doctor! Doctor!"

"Jamie!"

The latter was exclaimed by both of them upon the sound of the third voice. A long pause followed, after which Patrick jumped up and dashed in the direction of the familiar voice.

"No, wait!" the Doctor yelped, but it was too late. Patrick ran out of the cave and froze with his mouth open.  
It was no doubt that the youngster sitting on the shore was Jamie McCrimmon - Patrick would've never confused this appearance with anybody else's. But there was also something that made him doubt his vision. Jamie's top half was perfectly his, but waist down was a completely different story. For some reason his legs were replaced by a fish-like tail covered in brownish red scales, and it didn't seem fake at all. Why would Jamie want to prank him?

"Doctor? What, you overdosed with that appearance thing?" odd Jamie asked, and Patrick found no other way than to run back. He's better not done it, because it came clear that this 'Doctor' had this kind of oddity as well, though of different color. In his case it was electric blue.

"Unbelievable!" the Doctor said, pulling himself onto the sand. Poor Patrick didn't know what to do - in some tales, mermaids were kind to people, but in others they were wicked beings with a taste for kidnapping. "Totally unbelievable!"

"What is?" Patrick muttered, wildly looking around.

"That is, my dear boy, that you're me in this world!" the Doctor exclaimed. "I knew that we landed close to the location of our possible doubles, but I didn't see that coming!" He went on, counting on his fingers (thank goodness without any webbing between them): "One: you share your appearance with me. Two: you recognized Jamie. Three: Jamie recognized you. Four: you... you... No matter!" he shouted and laughed. "Now we only have to wait, have to wait, to wait... Don't worry, Patrick, it's a temporal state."

"Hai?"

"I'm not a merman, just for a time," the Doctor explained. "Had to enter a vaccine for underwater breathing to accomplish this mission, and this dose would have to wear off after 24 hours, but the time's not over yet, so we have to wait. And those are all side-effects. You know, merpeople breathe with their skin and all."

"So your Jamie is not... my Jamie?" Patrick pointed out, his fear slowly leaving.

"He's not. Just the same face," the Doctor explained.

"And... will you get me back?" Patrick asked. "I don't want my Jamie to shout at me."

"Does he?" the Doctor wondered, lazily splashing his fins over the water.

"Not often. When I deserve it," Patrick confessed.

"Heard that, Doctor?" sounded from the side of the shore. The Doctor mockingly shook his fist at the voice source:

"Wait until I get my legs back!"

"This is going to happen in three hours fifty-two minutes." Another person joined the conversation. This time it was a girl with chin-length dark hair and fragile stature, and with a tail as well - in her case it was metal grey, as well as the sleeveless tee covering her top part. "So make sure you won't forget. I'm not reminding you."

"Zoe, meet Patrick. He's me here." The Doctor was speaking as if talking about something ordinary, like buying soap.

* * *

Jamie was beginning to get desperate when a little blur of dark hair and shorts jumped into his arms and clang to him.

"Patrick! Where have you been? Everybody has been searching for you!" Jamie exclaimed.

"Jamie I was searching for a treasure and fell into a well and met a man who was me but in another world he was called the Doctor and there was also another you and a girl named Zoe and they all had tails like mermaids and they brought me here I'm sorry!"

"Patrick, couldn't you think of something more persuasive?" Mrs. Williams asked.

"But it's true, Mrs. Williams!" Patrick exclaimed. "True-true!"

"The only truth here is that you've been gone all day and now think of things not to be punished," Tegan. Petey's sitter, mentioned. Patrick pouted, but a moment later there was a very familiar splash and chuckle. It was Jamie chuckling, but he didn't say a word or even moved his mouth. So who could it be?  
Patrick wriggled out of Jamie's grasp, ran over to the shore and gathered some large scales of brownish red, electric blue and metal grey colors - each was as large as a ring shaped out of forefinger and thumb:

"Look, that's theirs!"


	11. Bowties and Butterflies

"Honk, honk! I'm running you over!"

Matt jumped into the closest bush, while Peter resumed walking along his way - he knew that Jon was sensible enough and was simply showing off. Unlike those two boneheads on bikes which had almost ran Clara, Matt and Peter's sitter, over some days ago. Peter had sworn that he would show them who was the boss when he had heard it.

"Sorry Mattie!" Jon laughed and rang the bell of his yellow tricycle. The group was spending the day in the town park, and everyone found a way to spend time. Most of the children were drawing pictures on the pavement with colored chalks, some, like Jon, found individual fun, and some were exploring the wonders of nature. John 'Simmy' Simm was lurking around, searching for ways to spoil the pictures when they would be ready, Billy and Romana were quietly sitting with books, and River - who was here as well - was watching out for Simmy, her water gun at the ready.

Matt, not offended at Jon at all, got out of the bush and crawled up to Patrick and Paul, who were watching a flock of butterflies flying from one grass stem to another. Right now one of them, the wings of which were bluish green with white dots, decided to settle on the lock of Paul's loose reddish brown hair, like a clip. Matt snickered, but a moment later rolled onto the grass with laughter: the yellowish green butterfly landed right at the tip of Patrick's nose.

"Ah-choo!"

"Careful, there are ones in the grass, don't squash them," Paul asked, pulled Matt upwards and nervously looked around, as if he was chased.

"Pretty!" Matt said and, oblivious to his pink shirt and pants being covered in grass spots (what a pain for a washing machine!), laid down onto his tummy, watching the colorful insects. But a second later he bounced up, because something rustled in the nearby bushes, and another head popped from them. Wait, what?! At first Matt thought that his eyes lied to him - it couldn't be Paul, he was sitting behind. But then an obvious thing came to his mind: Paul's wavy curls reached his chin, and this boy's were enough only to flop over his forehead and ears, though their faces were absolutely the same.

However, Paul wasn't surprised at all.

"Hi Ganny," he waved at the new one, while Patrick stared at them two. "Get out of there, no one will get you."

"You sure?" the other boy asked, crawling out. His clothes were much baggier and older than Paul's, though they were of the same height and could wear clothes of the same size. "You really sure, Paul?"

"Mm-hmm." Paul pulled the kid out completely. "That's Matt, and that's Patrick. And this is Ganny."

"Ganny?" Patrick parroted: he realized that this word was the shortened version of Paul's last name.

"Actually, he's John, but he doesn't like being called like that," Paul explained. Ganny expressed this more than clearly: crossed his arms and pouted. "No Johns, just Ganny!"

This helped: Ganny's mood turned better. But Matt and Patrick both felt pity for him.

"Mama Grace agreed to take him to us," Paul explained. "Ganny's not used."

Meanwhile Ganny was examining Matt and Patrick with his look.

"You could be bros as well," he summed up. "Some mommies want their kids to look and be the same."

"We're not bros," Patrick objected.

"We're bowtie buddies," Matt caught up. "I've got a bro, there he is," he pointed to the side, where his stepbrother Peter was busy over his chalk-drawing.

"He's not like you," Ganny objected.

"That's because he's my stepbro," Matt explained. "Ganny, what's that you're holding? Show me, please."

Ganny uncurled his fingers and showed a small black item on his palm. As far as none of the boys knew what that was, they hurriedly made their way to Clara, hoping she would not swear at them for dirty clothing.

As well as them, Clara was really surprised that Paul had a twin, but it didn't last long. She knew it well that if children are curious, their answers are to be answered immediately.

"That's a chrysalis," she said when Ganny showed her what he had found.

"A Chris-a-what?" Matt wondered, having made Chris, who was chalk-drawing Minions from Despicable Me together with another pair of twins, David and Johnny, turn his lop-eared head at them.

"A chrysalis," Clara repeated. "Caterpillars turn into chrysalids, out of which butterflies appear."

"But butterfly wouldn't fit in there," Patrick objected. "Its wings won't get in."

"It's like wet paper," Clara explained. "You can easily make a smaller ball out of wet paper than out of the same amount of dry paper, eh? It's something like that."

Patrick bit the tip of his forefinger, trying to understand that correctly.

"And what if a chryssa-less is broken before time?" Ganny asked.

"Then the butterfly inside would be too weak. Maybe it wouldn't be able to fly. This is why you shouldn't break them before the butterflies come out by themselves."

Ganny twirled the chrysalis this way and that, pondering over the statement.

"You know, in some languages bowties and butterflies are called with the same word," Clara added, having noticed that he paid attention to the tied accessories around Matt's and Patrick's necks: the first one had red, and the second one had a polka-dotted blue one.

"Really?" Matt's eyes sparkled like green fireworks. "Cool!"

* * *

Meanwhile...

"Stop dancing!" Peter squealed, while his blond namesake was blindly searching for something very particular on the top of the cupboard, his feet on the first one's shoulders.

"Sorry!" Petey mumbled. There were glass bowls, metal cups and pans - he felt it - but no thin tin box of particular shape.

"Petey, get it quicker, I'm FALLING!"

A moment later both were on the floor. Petey landed a second later, because he instinctively grabbed onto the cupboard and hung on for a bit.

"My turn, shoo!" Peter scoffed, bounced up and, clenching his teeth not to weep with pain (shame, shame, shame!), turned his curly head around in search for a chair or something. He had hoped that Petey would get the box from the first try - after all, it was his parents' house, and his sitter Tegan was away (the boys had sneaked in through the window), and it would be a fail not to use such opportunity. Especially when it's about newbies - Peter had seen 'another Paul's' arrival.

"Your arms are not longer," Petey mumbled, rubbing his bottom.

"But my brain is bigger," Peter haughtily mentioned and dashed up the staircase.

* * *

"Where did you get this all?" Matt asked, munching on the gingerbread bird from the box brought by the two unlike namesakes. His most favourite kind of cookies were Jammy Dodgers, but there were none in there, so gingerbread was better than nothing.

"Tegan keeps a stash on the cupboard," Petey informed and swallowed the remains of his cocoa cookie.

"Why would cookies be there if 'ey can't be eaten?" Peter asked and passed the box over to Paul and Ganny. "You too modest, you two. Come on."

"Won't Petey be punished?" Ganny asked.

"Hah, it was my idea." Peter haughtily stuck his tiny 100% Roman nose up. "And I ain't gonna be punished... Hey Patrick, where's Mr. McCrimmon? I thought he would tell us all a story tonight."

"Jamie broke his leg," Patrick confessed, his good mood gone away in a moment. "But he said we could all come. Victoria said that we can if we're not too noisy."

"Who's Victoria?" Matt asked.

"Jamie's girlfriend," Peter interfered and pushed a whole coconut cookie into his mouth, so the following came out muffled. "Fe fifn't fell fou, huh?"

"Jamie says she's a girl and a friend but not a girlfriend," Patrick objected.

Some time later all the kids gathered at the house of Patrick's parents. Jamie indeed had his right leg in a plaster, but this didn't make him feel worse or anything - he was as cheerful as usually. Victoria, who also was there, warned the kids not to be too fussy not to make things worse, and almost all of them obeyed. Except for Simmy, of course, who would've turned the house upside down if it were not for Jamie's 'being out-of-order', as he called it.

"Tell a story, Jamie, please," Patrick asked after it was clear everybody was present.

"About the Troyan horse," Billy asked. Sylvester glared at him:

"No, about dragons!"

"About paintings which came to life!" Tom suggested.

"Nooooo, about witches!" David and Johnny stuck in.

"Don't you think this is called being fussy?" Victoria wondered. The kids got silent, and Jamie, having nodded to her, finally spoke:

"You've heard these stories already, aye?"

"I not heard any," Ganny confessed.

"You no told me about the Troyan horse," Jon inserted.

"Tonight I've got a whole new story for all of you. Do you know why there is such thing as..." Jamie's dark eyes fixed on Matt and Patrick, who were sitting by each other's side, "bowties?"

Matt let out a happy 'eeeeeee!' after having heard this word.

"So, there is a legend up in the Scottish Highlands that butterflies are souls of those who are remember, and the patterns of their wings reflect the character of those whose souls they are."

"Someone already told me about this," Ganny confessed.

"It's only the beginning. So, there once were a man and a woman, who cared for each other more than anybody else. But she was weak and soon she died, having turned into a butterfly with sky-blue wings which followed him everywhere. He always knew that his beloved one was close to him, and the feeling of freedom never left him. You know, a person who can see the sky is never a slave to the end."

"How's that?" Colin wondered.

"Would you feel good if locked in a room with no windows?"

Colin shook his head, having bitten his bottom lip.

"Neither would I... And one day outlanders came to the land to bring their order. They knew no other order than their own, and they thought there couldn't be other one. They did not believe that butterflies which followed the aborigines..."

"Abo-who?" Chris interfered.

"Aborigines are people who live in the country since the beginning. The country's first folk," Jamie explained. "So, the outlanders didn't believe that butterflies following the aborigines were the souls of their late best friends, or relatives, or lovers. The outlanders thought that butterflies were only good for collecting them. Our hero did his best to protect the soul of his loved one, but what could one do against the whole folk which shared one thought? But he was witty and found a solution. Many of his folk wore ties to make their collars hold together, but they all looked similar, just like mine." Jamie toyed with the tips of his old-fashioned, but outfit-friendly tie. "So he decided to find a new way of wearing usual things and twisted the ribbon in such a way that it formed a shape similar to butterfly's. Now the soul of his beloved could sit on it without being noticed. The outlanders searched for the rare butterfly with the sky-colored wings, but didn't find it, and it was right in front of their nose. Luckily soon enough they got sensible and stopped killing the insects just to collect them, but the custom of wearing butterfly-shaped ties remained till today."

"Cooooooool." Matt was listening like hypnotized, and now his green eyes were glittering with glee. But Peter wasn't in such optimistic mood, more like thinking of something tricky to ask. And indeed, in a second he asked:

"And what if butterflies decided to revenge those who pinned their friends to paper?"

"Trust me, Peter, I know such story," Jamie grinned. "Who wanna listen?"

* * *

**A/N: Introducing John 'Ganny' McGann - another counterpart of Eighth Doctor, but from Time War times. Say, Eight at the beginning and Eight in the end are two very different persons, so why not?**

**Please tell me what you think!**


	12. And the Who Rath Outgrabe

What could be sweeter than two little boys eagerly waiting for their sitter to read them a bedtime story? Only three little ones, though it was harder from the beginning. But those three never created a mess on intention. Only accidentally. It was hard to take care of them, but pleasant as well. Or what about more?  
Tonight Clara had to put more children to bed, because due to some unknown reason heat and electricity had been turned off in almost all neighborhood, apart from two houses - the one which turned into a temporal kindergarten and the next door one (this was due to Peter's father personal interference in house protection). But Mr. and Mrs. Williams, as well as their three daughters, had gone to another town to visit Mr. Brian Williams, the girls' grandfather. So the only opportunity was letting all the gang spend the night at the only 'survival' house. Right now more than ten little boys were staring at Clara from bunk bed, airbeds and pillows all around the floor. The kids had refused to sleep in separate rooms, so now it was quite a crowd.

"Another chapter?" The floppy-haired boy in rocket print pajamas pointed at the book which was far too large for one evening. His neighbor was a black-haired kid in fluffy brown night attire (which, in Clara's opinion, made him look a bit like a 'Littlefoot' - like 'Bigfoot', but smaller).

"Of course!" The curly one in blue plaid wondered about his stepbrother's ability to be excited by anything. For a thousandth time. So did his 'bedmate' - the small platinum blond guy in old-fashioned checkered footsie pajamas.

Another boy, whose hair was chin-length and blond, dressed in beige pajamas with red stripes, didn't say anything, for he did feel a bit uncomfortable here. Matt and Peter, as well as the rest here, were his friends, but still...

"Come on, Max. Come on." The one in rainbow-hued nightwear, hugging a stuffed penguin under one arm, scratched his airbed, having made a small pale-furred kitten bounce onto his hand. "Stay. Stay, Max."

The kids bunched up around Clara when she started the new chapter, A Mad Tea-Party. Petey knew this tale and its sequel, but it still was really pleasant for him to listen to someone's calm voice.

* * *

THUMP!

"I fell asleep from the bed," Petey said to himself and sat up. And blinked in surprise - he wasn't in Matt's and Peter's room anymore. Instead, he was in the middle of some kind of a meadow at the beginning of a weird-looking forest. At least for him it looked weird. First of all, the ground was warm - Petey could feel it through his clothes (which were his everyday ones for now instead of pajamas).

"Well, well, well, another mad soul came here. I knew that it would be someone tiny."

Petey raised his head and blinked. Right over him there was a man sitting on a tree branch. An odd man, and still reminding the boy of someone extremely familiar. Thick brown curls, baggy clothing, long stripy scarf, toothy grin and - cat ears and tail, covered in wavy brown fur.

"What? I know you're mad, otherwise you wouldn't have got here," the man said, his grin growing even wider.

"I'm not mad," Petey replied. "W-who are you?"

"I'm the Cheshire Cat," was the reply. "And you're little Petey who's lost in his own mind for now."

"Why do you speak riddles?"

"I say what's true. Over there," the 'Cat' waved his hand to the right, "you'll meet someone who you know and who will ask you more questions than I. Over here," he pointed at the left, "you'll meet another mad person. Choose any, Petey."

"How do I get outta here?"

"It's your mind, not mine." And the 'Cat' was gone. His grin was the final part of him to vanish.

Completely and utterly puzzled, Petey began pondering what to do. In some time he realized that the 'Cat' was an adult counterpart of his friend Tom-Stripy-Scarf, but this didn't help much. Having decided that walking would be better than sitting at the same place, Petey stepped under the closest tree.

The wood was as if a story-book one, all bright colors and sunlight, so Petey didn't feel frightened. He was turning his head all the time to spot someone else 'familiar', but he put too much effort in it and therefore nearly bumped into two little persons with spiky hair and dressed in pinstriped suits, standing under the oak and embracing each other around the shoulders.

"David! Johnny!" Petey exclaimed, not knowing who of them was who. Usually David wore 3-D glasses and Johnny preferred fake real ones (which he called 'brainy specs'; Petey secretly wondered if they could fit him), but here there wasn't anything that could differ them from each other.

"If you think we're the ones whom you call this way, you're wrong," the left twin said. "Nohow!"

"And if you think we're museum items to look at, you're wrong," the right twin said. "Nohow!"

"I am Tweedledum," the left twin said.

"I am Tweedledee," the right twin said.

Petey shook his head to fully accept everything again. Having coped with himself, he asked:

"Can you help me get outta here?"

"Only if you prove you're worth it," 'Tweedledum' said.

"We'll ask you two questions, and you will decide who of us is telling the truth," 'Tweedledee' added.

"Brown was the first," 'Tweedledum' began.

"Blue was the first," 'Tweedledee' added. Then they spoke at the same time:

"Who of us is right?"

Petey placed his finger tip into his mouth: it always helped him to think. Brown was the first, blue was the first. What could that mean? David and Johnny were of those twins whose parents liked underlining their similarity, but not fanatically. There was never a time when they couldn't be differed from each other. Including... Hey, wait. Sometimes David and Johnny wore pinstriped clothing, just like now. But David always wore brown with light blue pinstripes, and Johnny wore dark blue with such ones. And David liked boasting that he was 'half an hour older' than Johnny. Then...

"You are right," Petey said, pointing at 'Tweedledum'.

"Yes, I am," he replied. "Now for the second question. The latest one has blue."

"The latest one has green."

"WHO OF US IS RIGHT?"

This was harder. Johnny was 'the latest one'... or was he? Green. Blue... But there was a chance to guess.

"You are," Petey pointed at 'Tweedledee'.

"BOO! Wrong!" the twins shouted at the same time and set off to run away from some kind of a huge dark cloud. The crow, Petey realized after having hidden behind a rock.

When it was quiet again, Petey stood up and walked on. To entertain himself he began singing in half-voice, attempting to recall full lines:

"Tick-tock, goes the clock until River meets the Doc... tonight Imma bite all the jelly babies in sight... Oh-oh-oh-oh..."

"You'd better read a poem, young face."

Petey stopped and turned his head up. Right in front of him there was a giant white mushroom, on the top of which the strangest creature was sitting. Like a centaur from the book which Tegan had shown him. The difference was that centaurs had horse bottom parts, and this creature had caterpillar's. Blue, with lots of tiny limbs. And the upper half belonged to a white-haired old man who was holding his lapel with one hand and had an old-fashioned carved pipe in the other. Again, it was a very familiar face, but Petey couldn't recognize it.

"Yes, I am talking to you, child," the 'Blue Caterpillar' (Petey recalled this episode immediately) said and let some smoke rings out of his mouth. "All the words are at the wrong places. Yes, yes, they are."

Petey blushed - he knew that the song he was singing did not exist.

"Has the cat got your tongue, hmm?"

"N-no. Can you help me..."

"I can't. But you can." Another smoke cloud. "You can help yourself, boy. Change your look at things, hmm? In this I can be a little bit of handy."

"How's that?"

"Don't you remember, hmm? Recall by yourself. You know what is going to be next," was the reply, and the speaker left.

Having stayed alone, Petey pursed his lips, thinking. What was that advice from the Blue Caterpillar? On the one side - growing, on the other side - vice versa. Just like that. The problem was about where 'one' and 'the other' sides were. Nevertheless Petey broke two pieces off the mushroom and bit on the right one.  
The world changed in a mere moment - Petey found himself sitting on the grass, which was much shorter than it used to be. And not only his height changed. He didn't remember his limbs being as huge as that. Petey attentively touched his teeth with his fingers, searching for the bits of mushroom stuck between them. Hold on a second. All his teeth were solid and firm, and just some days ago one of them was going to get loose. One of the upper incisors.

"Overhuge," Petey said and jumped up with alarm: it seemed to him that it was said by someone else. This voice was much deeper than his usual squeak.

"Hey! Who's talking to me?" Again that voice, and Petey realized it was his own. The mushroom didn't just make him bigger in size - it literally made him and his clothing grow up. Oh, for the stars! Petey munched on the left piece of mushroom and was chewing until he turned into a boy again.

"I think I gotta use it when reaching for cookies," he said aloud and chuckled with delight. "No way, Peter!"

Only here he understood that the mushroom portion changed not only his physical appearance, but his size as well. Or maybe transported it to some different place? In any case, a brick wall appeared seemingly out of nowhere in front of him, together with a chubby figurine in colorful clothing on its top.

"Say thanks it wasn't carrot juice."

Petey held his laughter in, for it occurred to him that the role of Humpty Dumpty fitted his another pal, Colin, the best. Why? Colin was a bit of a 'doughnut' kid - the one who enjoyed physical exercises least of the bunch. This was the only area in which he didn't risk proving that he was the best.

"Colin Dumpty sat on a wall, Colin Dumpty had a great fall," Petey muttered to himself. 'Colin Dumpty' crossed his arms:

"I heard that. The final line is a bit long, I think. Isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Peter tugged on his collar. "Could you help me..."

'Colin Dumpty' grabbed his head from both sides:

"Bleh, bluh, bleh! Asking, asking, asking! Yes, you changed your look at things, but then... don't you remember the order? All got wrong. Wrong, wrong, WRONG!"

Petey rushed into the wood - it seemed to him that 'Colin Dumpty' was ready to strangle him right from the top of his wall. He was running until the ground turned slippery under his feet and he - splash! - fell right into salty water.

That is the wrong sequence, the boy thought. Wasn't it like that: corridor of the doors, pool of tears (whose tears could those be? Not his own, definitely), White Rabbit's house, the Caterpillar, the Duchess, the... mmm... and what next? Strangely enough, Petey didn't drown, though he couldn't swim well. Maybe water was so salty that it held him on its own. Petey's sitter Tegan had once told him about pools with such water.

After having swallowed several liters of salty substance, Petey finally spotted a dark object approaching right to him (the banks were gone as soon as Petey fell into the pool, and he couldn't reach the bottom with his feet). It didn't look like a boat. First of all, it was round. Round, not oval, and black. And something like a giant red upside-down question mark was sticking high over it. Petey moved up to it and realized it was a giant opened umbrella with handle up.

"Oooo, seems like there's a ship-wrecked one here!" sounded from above. Something flapped over Petey's head, fingers with claws caught his tee, and he was pulled into the 'ship'. Petey blinked, overcoming his dizziness. "There's no lobster quadrille to ya!"

The creature which got him into the umbrella was - lion or bird? Or maybe human? Most of all it looked like a sphinx: it had lion body covered with wavy white fur, eagle front paws (with huge claws - thank goodness they didn't hurt Petey) and huge wings, and a human head which belonged to another Petey's chap - 'no-H-Jon', but not a child, an adult version.

"What, haven't you seen Gryphons before?"

"Na-ah, he did not." This was said by a tubby shape of a small person with black hair and huge blue eyes, dressed in something out of - fur or feathers? A variation of Sylvester, that's who it was. At least the brolly was totally his, though so large. "Though they call me Dodo, I'm not as silly as they think."

"I'm not silly," Petey said, slightly offended. "Why don't you fly up if you carried me out?"

"Those don't work well, and I don't wanna get 'em soaked," Jon-Gryphon replied. "And Dodos are not a flying kind of birds."

Petey wanted to say something else, but a sudden wave rocked the umbrella in a violent way, so he clung to its handle. But this didn't save him from the next wave, which tossed him onto the rocky bank. He didn't feel hurt at all, so he stood up, shook like a wet dog and set off to find a way to get drier. But hardly had he made a few steps, when a shape dashed past him.

"Oh, my stars! Oh, my nebulas! I'm late!"

Petey darted after it, hoping that running would help him get dry. But at some moment the running figure turned around, and Petey bumped into it.

"And how did YOU get here?" It appeared to be a Victorian-style-attired man with shoulder-length gingerish brown wavy curls, out of which a pair of white rabbit ears was sticking. He was holding a huge pocket-watch, which was showing eight o'clock.

Paul. Or his twin Ganny? No, Paul. Tots Paul. Ganny was much less tidy. And his hair was shorter.

"I-I don't know," Petey admitted. "Fell into this world..."

"All of them do so, you know. AAAAAALLLLLL of them. Now I need to go! Duchess is waiting for me!"

Duchess. Duchess-Duchess-Duchess. Petey put his forefinger in his mouth once again. He knew that someone in the neighborhood had a nickname 'Duchess'. Someone grown-up... someone adult... but no one in the neighborhood liked pepper. Or pigs. Duchess slapped the Queen. At this moment Petey chuckled: this moment always made him laugh.

Wait a moment. What did Alice do to get into Wonderland? She followed the White Rabbit. This could mean... Petey turned around and ran again at the opposite direction than 'Paul Rabbit', but it didn't last long: the no-path way brought him to a sunlit meadow, the most prominent part of which was a long table all set for teatime, though only with three places occupied. And Petey had to hold his laughter in once more: those were Patrick in a ridiculously huge hat with brims turned up, Peter with hay in his hair (and two grey hare ears of the same shade as his curls on his head) and Chris, who was simply trying to sleep.

"Phew! I thought that was Time coming!" 'Mad Patrick' exclaimed at the sight of Petey.

"This time I used the required substance for the watch," Peter informed in his trademark shoo-I-am-right tone. "No butter."

"No butter, no nothing," 'Dor-Chris' hummed. "Personally I am surprised that this little alien is still here. With his head, one could get back in a mo'."

"Are you talking about me?" Petey pointed out.

"Mm-hmm. He's talking about you." 'March Peter' began toying with a teaspoon with his fingers.

"Oh, come on, it's easier than Twinkle Twinkle!" 'Mad Patrick' caught up. "Remember, you've been instructed! Come on! Find the needed place and change your sight!"

"And you'd better do it before these... things make me nuts!" 'March Peter' tugged at his hare ears and squirmed so naturally that Petey understood they were real. At least here. Think, Petey, think. Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you're at... No. Once Tweedledum and Tweedledee... as they would say - nohow. Or boo. The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts...

"Don't even THINK about that," 'Dor-Chris' mentioned, as if he read what was going on in Petey's head. Petey decided that when thinking deeply he began muttering to himself, it even happened to adults. Let's go on. What else was so famous about... YES! Petey facepalmed, then grabbed his blond locks and bounced in irritation. How could he be so dumb?

"Cor-rect!" 'Mad Patrick' sang. "Now all you have to do is..."

But Petey wasn't listening anymore. Jabberwocky! He had to find the place from Jabberwocky! It didn't even bother him that the only clear detail was the sun clock. 'Wabe' was grass which grew around sun clock, eh?..

Petey was so charged with the thought that he knew where to go that he crashed into that sun clock as a result.

* * *

"Ow!"

"Gerrof!"

"Waaaaaahhhhh!"

"Eeeeee!"

The room filled with screams and yells, and something horrid began. Yelps changed to bumps when someone was falling. Sylvester and Chris could not understand where were each other's limbs (they got entangled in a blanket), Tom was crawling all over the room, Colin was blindly searching for his kitten (which was sitting in a corner), and this was not going to end.

"What's going on?"

The kids squinted when Clara turned the lights off. The sight was horrid. Matt, Patrick, Billy and Peter were bunched up on the bed, while the rest was more like a freeze frame from a mock horror movie. The reason of this was obvious - it was Petey, who had fallen from his bed in a huge armchair (it was so huge and he was so small that it served him well this way). Before, after the kids had listened to another book chapter, Clara had found out that Petey had fallen asleep, and had put him there. And Jon served him as a landing pillow.

"I din' mean to!" Petey whimpered, having got off Jon (who looked extremely pissed off). "I-I-I..."

"I know you didn't." Clara took Colin's kitten Max up and returned him to his owner. "Did you dream of something... m-m... peculiar?"

"What's pe-kew-lee-ar?" Peter asked.

"Strange, Peter."

"I dreamed that we all were Wonderlanders," Petey confessed, while Clara was placing him back into his armchair bed. "And I bumped into a sun clock when..."

"Petey, go to sleep, okay? Will you tell it to us in the morning?" Clara asked. Petey nodded and got wrapped into his blanket, and she checked if the mess had another consequences. There happened to be almost none: the only ones were Sylvester's bump on the head and Ganny's ripped sleeve.

Hardly had ten minutes passed when the children were fast asleep. They all knew that Clara could fix anything.

* * *

**A/N: I dare you to guess what 'Tweedledum and Tweedledee's' riddle was about, ha.**


	13. So Much for the Happy Ending

Peter tripped over something and flopped onto the snow-clad pavement. Jumped up and ran on, not even caring about his clothes besmeared in wet and dirty spots. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Quicker, quicker, quicker!

"HEY!"

Two strong hands grabbed Peter's middle and scooped him up.

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" Peter yelled, arching, kicking and shaking his tiny fists.

"Easy, Peter! What's up? I ain't gonna let you go unless you tell me everything!"

Peter stopped trying to wiggle free and recognized the male member of the most discussed (by adults) couple around. It was Ben Jackson, a sailor who lived together with his 'Duchess' - Polly Wright. Well, if so, he could be trusted - even Peter thought so.

"Mr. Tardis... Mr. Tardis!" the boy exhaled, unable to catch his breath. "Tell... someone... quick!"

"Come on, little one! Calm down and tell me what is going on."

"You not gonna believe," Peter breathed.

"Who told you so?"

"Grown-ups are always too busy to listen to kids!"

"I'm listening."

"Mr. Tardis... he's in his cellar... COLD!" Peter yelped and tried to get out again, but Ben was stronger.

"Cold? What do you mean?"

"HE is cold. All so white and not moving and... We found him in his cellar, and he was... frozen! He was... sleeping! Bad sleep!"

"We? Not only you?"

"Me, Billy and Tom... we found him there... they stayed..."

"Lead me there. Now!"

Peter, having grabbed Ben's hand to make sure that the adult wouldn't get away, led him to the cellar in which the local insane soul, Mr. Tardis (the painter, the fixer and the main brain-mixer miles around), usually made things to earn for his living. He usually slept in a phone box, and this was his workshop. But almost all kids adored Mr. Tardis, because he treated them like his real friends, which they were (and he was as well).

From the very beginning Ben saw that it was not okay. The ceiling and walls in the corridor which led to the cellar were covered with ice. And behind the door - thank goodness not stuck to the walls with ice - it was such chaos that it took some seconds to see two boys attempting to pull a fully grown person onto the old couch next to one of the walls.

"Mr. Jackson!" Tom exclaimed. Ben ran over to them and gave orders:

"Billy, find a pillow or something. Now!" Having dialed ambulance, he placed the brought pillow under Mr. Tardis's head and placed him in a supine position on the floor. All three kids were close to hysterics, so Ben quickly checked the pulse. It was there - hardly heard, but was. The 'crazy hobo' was alive, just very cold - his ginger hair, brows and lashes seemed to be the only colored parts of him, while the rest was white.

In twenty minutes, when ambulance drove away with Mr. Tardis, the kids were taken home by their guardians. And Clara, whose charge was Peter, felt worried not only about the poor soul - it was about the little one as well. Peter was sitting in a corner, hugging his knees, and not reacting to anything. His stepbrother Matt was worried as well - even this was too much for the 'tiny Roman'.

"Peter?" Clara sat on the couch next to him. Peter didn't react. "It's going to be fine. Mr. Tardis has been taken to the hospital, he's going to be fine."

Peter glanced at her, but kept silent.

"Do you want to visit him when we're allowed to?"

The boy turned his head at her:

"You not lying?"

"Why would I lie to you, Peter?"

"You don't like Mr. Tardis. No one likes," Peter muttered. "I know."

"Who told you so?"

Peter kept silent.

"We'll visit him. You, me and Matt," Clara continued, moving closer to him.

"If he's okay," Peter whispered.

"Why isn't he going to be okay?"

And then Peter broke down - crawled up to Clara and cuddled against her, bitterly sobbing into her shirt.

"Oh, Peter..."

"Don't want Mr. Tardis to die!"

* * *

Matt and Peter were quietly sitting in the hospital corridor, keeping close to each other, while Clara was solving the visit question. Not only because it was cold here, not only because they didn't like the smell - they both were going to explode with anxiousness, and sitting like this kept them from doing this.

"Hello, boys."

"Hi Miss Jones," Matt waved to the dark 'big girl' who greeted him, but far not as enthusiastically as usually. Martha Jones was studying to get a medical degree, and for now she was having her practical training here.

"Came to visit Mr. Smith, you two?"

"Mr. Tardis," Peter murmured. "He doesn't like 'Mr. Smith'."

"Officially he's Timothy Smith, you know," Martha pointed out. "I can tell you good news. He's going to be all right. But don't be too fussy there, he's too weak. I guess he caught hypothermia wherever he was, but... I've heard that you Peter found him. Is that true?"

"Billy and Tom too."

"If you hadn't found him, he would've been frozen to death. Or in much worse condition... He caused quite a panic here. Some of the doctors thought he was dead at first."

"But Mr. Jackson..." Peter began.

"He was right. Mr. Smith was alive. His cardiogram turned out to be completely straight at first..."

"What's cardeeo-gram?" Matt asked.

"Heartbeat scheme," Martha explained. "It should be a zigzag of certain pattern, but his was straight. You know why? Your friend is indeed unique. He is a mirror-man."

"How's that?" both boys wondered.

"All of his inner organs are positioned in mirrored positions than they are normally. His heart is turned to the right, while most peoples' are turned to the left. Imagine: if all people in the world had moles on their right cheeks, here," Martha pointed at her cheek close to her nose, "he would have it on his left. This is why he created a panic before someone found out this feature of his... Mirror-people are rare, very rare. Now sorry boys, it's time for me to go."  
Martha left, and some moments later Clara returned.

"Let's go, you two. Behave, remember?"

The nurse led them into the needed room. Mr. Tardis was peacefully sleeping, the lower half of his face covered with an oxygen mask.

"What's that?" Matt asked, pointing at it.

"This helps Mr. Smith to breathe well," the nurse explained and examined the results shown on the screen of the device, wires of which were attached to Mr. Tardis's arm and chest. "The results are at the needed level." She removed the oxygen mask, and Mr. Tardis spoke without opening his eyes, so the boys started:

"Smells like contra-duo. Am I right?"

"You are," Clara laughed. "Matt and Peter are here."

The nurse left the room, and Mr. Tardis slightly smiled at the sight of the stepbrothers. His cheeks were blushing, which made Peter's doubts vanish: he remembered well how pale Mr. Tardis had been.

"Why didn't Miss Idris come?" Matt asked, climbing onto the chair next to his bed.

"Urgent task. She'll come next week. There are plans."

Peter was peeking at Clara all the time they were talking, but didn't spot a shade of hostility. Or hypocrisy. Nothing. Seems like Clara had told the truth.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Matt asked for the hundredth time. Several days ago, after his mum and Peter's dad had finally come home for vacation, they had received an odd letter in a blue envelope. And the boys hadn't managed to read it due to their age. But they had realized about its being an invitation. If it wasn't, why would everybody be dressed so fancy?

They were not the first. Next to the entrance of the town 'expohall', as it was called, Matt spotted more familiar faces. These were Grace Holloway and her charges Paul and Ganny. And these two were David and Johnny with their parents.

'And there are Mr. and Mrs. Pertwee, and Jon,' Matt thought, having spotted those three: the enormously tall fluffy-haired man, the small and slender blonde and his pre-school mate. 'And right over there - Colin and his Mum and Dad. And Sylv too... And Miss Sarah Jane, and Tom.'

Not only they were invited. Matt saw his friends' sitters as well, and not only them. But he couldn't say hello to everybody, because the doors opened, and the first people stepped into the darkened corridor. There was only enough light not to bump into each other. But then they entered a vast room lighted with colored lamps under the ceiling.

"Welcome to the show," a familiar voice spoke. "Rule 0: please don't argue. Your children won't like it. Rule 2: no battling."

The central light was switched on, having shown a person in a dark blue tuxedo and top hat in the middle of the hall.

"Come in, everybody. Come in. Let me invite you to the common party for everybody," he went on.

* * *

Despite children fearing that their parents would not get along well with Mr. Tardis and Idris, the ice was broken pretty soon. It began after the dinner (which was cooked perfectly and included tastes of everybody present, so no one could complain), when Matt's mother, Mrs. Smith, convinced Peter's dad, Mr. Capaldi, to recall his punk youth and perform a sequence on an electric guitar which was present in the hall as well. There was some resistance at the beginning, but then rock versions of well-known winter songs filled the hall.

The kids were the first to see that snow began falling from the ceiling. But it was not the real snow, it was dry and soft, like cotton wool.

"A trademark secret, kiddos," Mr. Tardis informed when the children came to him for explanations. "And now I need YOUR trademark secrets. Okay, a hint. A wee little hint from each of you."

The kids got incredibly deep in the game medley. At first it was Twister (led by Idris), then mind games like phrase- and song-guessing, then Pieces of Eight (when Idris pulled Sylvester's Piece of Eight - his checkered scarf - and ordered him to do handsprings, he obeyed and almost managed with it; to be honest, only Jon, Tom and Chris could do this perfectly well). In fact, no one - apart from Peter and Billy, but they kept their mouth shut - saw that one of the kids was gone all the time. Different one. Matt appeared, Colin vanished; Colin appeared, Ganny vanished. This was going on until the very ending.

But even after the party was over, the surprises were not. It was very fitting holiday evening, starry and snowy. The children, as well as adults, were filled with warmth - that kind of it which shows itself after meeting kindred spirits. Even most conservative adults didn't complain about the presence of Mr. Tardis. Or about frost. Or about...

The four family members with two surnames stopped in the middle of the street, dumbfounded by the sight that greeted them. All windows of their house were painted with artificial snow, and tiny lights were shining over them from a certain angle, so that they looked especially magical. And what would they look like when seen from the inside? This silhouette in dark glasses, with an electric guitar, one hand raised, fingers in "Metal Rules!" gesture, was Mr. Capaldi. This figure with a paintbrush and in a hat with a bow was Mrs. Smith. And two little shades - one caught in the moment of happy bouncing, the other writing something on a tiny blackboard - were clear.

"Tell it all, kiddos: who of you thought of it?" Mr. Capaldi frowned (though his eyes were glittering).

"Not me," Matt blabbed and bit his lip: spilled the beans. He had helped Mr. Tardis with such one for Paul and Ganny, but this was a total surprise for him. Peter examined the painting with his look, trying to guess who had helped Mr. Tardis with this one. Even when it was about coloring, all the kids had their own accents: Colin would color his pictures with all available medley of crayons, while, for instance, Sylvester enjoyed giving his creations question marks and sparkles. If it were about them, though there were no colors except for white here... Jon. Yes, it was Jon's help here: he always drew characters whose clothes fluttered in the imaginary wind, and all four figures here had their clothes' edges raised upwards.

"You're lucky this time, Matthew, but do consider..."

"DAD!" Peter interfered. "It's holidays, no time for rules!"

Mr. Capaldi wasn't sentimental. But he still patted both Matt and Peter on their heads before entering.

* * *

**A/N: The reason why I made Mr. Tardis a 'mirror-man' was that it is a 'realistic' AU, and what human being would cause an anatomy fuss? Of course, a mirror-person (trust me, revealing this is not worse than revealing two hearts - I've seen it!). **


	14. Big'n'Little

**A/N: A little fun drabble. What could happen if adult Doctors met their little counterparts? Anything!**

* * *

"Is that supposed to be me? Curls? How absurd." The Twelfth Doctor was frowning and rubbing his chin, walking around without tearing his eyes off the much smaller being mirroring his expression (and not only).

"I am not 'Me', I am Pee-ter!" The little boy with full head of ashy-shaded curls pouted and crossed his arms. "And you're BORING."

"Boring? Me? Ha-ha, you haven't seen me yet, little puddingbrain!"

Peter was no longer paying attention, attracted by a huge blackboard close to the nearest bookshelf. He could never resist writing something on such boards, even when it was understandable only for him.

"Hmm, you seem to be cleverer than I thought... HEY!"

"Wheeeeeeeeee!"

A blur of tweed clothing and floppy hair darted past them. Those were Eleven with little Matt riding on his shoulders, both careless about possible consequences. The taller version darted down to the console, stopped, grabbed Matt by his middle, tossed him into the air and caught again.

"More! More!" Matt demanded, clapping his hands.

"What if he landed onto my lab table?" Three commented. He was explaining the principle of some hi-tech mechanism to Jon, who was all ears.

"You'd made more," Eleven smirked. Matt thumbed his nose at Three, and the two were gone before the white-haired Timelord and his mini version could've done anything. But hardly had the floppy-haired duo gone from sight, there was another distraction - howling sounds from the corridor. Those were Two and Patrick, who imagined themselves to be a wind instrument duet. Patrick was playing the recorder, while Two decided to take up something more grandiose. The saxophone, to be exact.

"Is that Patrick always like this?" Three asked, leaning down to Jon. The boy shook his head:

"Patrick's always shy. I've never seen him this en-too-see-as-teek. Even Matt can't get him outta his shell sometimes."

Three shrugged and went on with 'super-exact point welding', as he called it before. Not only Two and Patrick decided to take up musical activities, though here it wasn't heard. Far from the console room, in the renewed karaoke bar, Eight, Paul and Ganny were practicing their singing skills.

"Well, you're a good old boy," Paul sang.

"And you're a decent bloke," Ganny caught up.

"I say it's irony..."

"I say that it's a joke..."

"Now when you look at us and you can see," Eight put in, and all three finished the stanza with:

"We ain't so different, you and me..."

This song was perfect for them. Paul and Ganny were twins, but completely different from the very beginning, and the lyrics were about Americans and the English who also were different (first of all it was about language), but still not so opposite. Ganny took up the role of the English, while Paul got the role of the American. Eight took part in more than one-person lines.

"Awwwww!" Ten appeared to be standing in the doors and watching them, while David and Johnny were chasing each other behind his back. "I still cannot cope with them. Teach me your good child-caring skills, huh?"

"Awwwwwww," Eight replied, eyeing the spiky-haired twins who stopped at this moment. "Did that big mean owd Timeword fwighten you?"

Paul and Ganny gave out a combined huge "pffffff-hahahahah!" at Ten's expression.

"A bit of humour. And not too much drama," Eight went on and turned on the next song - Love Don't Die by The Fray.

Ten rolled his eyes - thoughts of 'have I been like this?' sometimes visited him as well - and left the room. Just to bump into Four, who, unlike the rest of the Doctors, didn't have a little doppelganger by his side.

"Anybody saw that half-insane wonder?" Four asked. "He nicked all my jelly babies, and I doubt that he would share 'em with anyone?"

A giggle and a sound of small feet against the floor were the clearest answers, so Four followed them and then caught the curly-haired kid almost completely wrapped in his stripy scarf behind the corner.

"Uh-oh. Tom's got enough sweet teeth for all of us," David whispered to Ten.

Tom was no longer able to stand still. In his normal condition he was quite bouncy, and when sugared up... there was no talking about anything apart a human tsunami. Or a tornado.

"An' me?.."

This last was of course from Sylvester, who also had a weakness for jelly babies. He seemed to be offended by the fact that Tom munched away all of them. But Seven quickly found a way to cheer him up by pulling a small paper bag out of his little double's pocket.

Sylvester stared at him.

"Can you teach me to do that?"

"I can teach you something much better." Seven tapped on Sylvester's nose, reassuring him. "Want it?"

"Yesyesyes!"

"And share some with me!" Colin shouted from the closest room, where he and Six were trying out new outfit variations (all as hideous as their usual ones, if not more). Right now they had oversized English police helmets on their heads, so their yellow curls were pressed down.

Sylvester marked this in his mind - he knew that not satisfying Colin's requests could result into worse. The same was with Chris. But luckily he didn't hear anything about the jelly babies because he (together with Nine) was engaged into a wild dance sequence to the thundering symphony version of Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Perhaps the quietest here was Petey, whose adult counterpart was teaching him tricks with cricket balls. Juggling and all. And Billy, who was completely engaged in stories which One was telling him (all of which were true).

* * *

"I just knew that I wasn't going to have someone ordinary as a pair."

Woooosh.

"It's not boasting, it's a fact."

Woooooooosh.

"Admit it!"

"Careful, or she will release a load of gunge on your... No-no. You're writing it the wrong way!" Twelve pointed out, having seen that Peter was thoroughly writing a mirrored "S" on the blackboard. The word which contained it appeared to be 'LISTEN'.

"And the TARDIS wasn't expecting she would have a crazy hobo for a counterpart," One mentioned, entering the console room.

"Said the future cosmic hobo," Mr. Tardis grinned and was gone - only the tips of the headscarf tied around his insane blue top hat flapped in the air.


	15. The Funkenstein's Figurine

"How are you going to differ the details from each other? You've got... five, six, seven..."

"Thir-teen," Peter proudly announced and showed four fingers (one on the right hand and three on his left) as a proof. "We WILL dee-fer."

Today the children were playing with Lego sets in the attic of the house where Matt and Peter lived. It definitely was quite easy to differ one set's details from the other's (for instance, Patrick's set was knight-themed, while David's and Johnny's was 'megapolis' and Matt had a pirate-themed set), but it also would take time.

"Spaceship, spaceship!" Chris finished his grand model of the mentioned craft (unlike the rest of the kids, he preferred following the instructions here) and began running around with it, making whirring sounds. But his ninth 'wheeeeerrrrr' turned into a yelp: another sound, similar to cracking of thunder, followed from somewhere below.

Only Peter wasn't surprised with this.

"That's Daddy," he explained. "He sometimes plays music there."

"Love me do! Whooooooaaaaa, LOVE ME DOOOO!"

The kids simultaneously stared at Peter, for he was the only one not afraid… okay, not worried to disturb Mr. Capaldi. That man wasn't of soft type. Maybe Matt didn't fear him, but nobody knew that. Matt was always so energetic that it couldn't be told if he fears anything or not. And River… River feared seemingly nothing. But she had never met Mr. Capaldi face to face before.

Peter stuck his tongue out and toddled downstairs, closely followed by the line of children. Some of them – Patrick and Petey, for instance – cheered to themselves that the 'thunder-like' sounds were so loud that creaking of stairs responding to their feet were not heard.

When the first three kids – Peter, Billy and Jon – peeked into the basement door, they saw the most unexpected image: Mr. Capaldi, dressed in a torn tee, zipped hoodie and checkered pants, was playing an extremely loud tune on the electric guitar, yelling at the top of his voice. He wasn't going to stop until it was over.

"Hello, hello, hello, how low? Yeah, I made it up," he confessed, having finished and having seen the rounded eyes of the kids. "Didn't I tell you I used to be one of the Funkensteins?"

Dumbfounded Peter shook his head. Mr. Capaldi placed the guitar aside.

"The whole bunch here, marvelous… There's a punk rock band named Doctor Funkenstein. It's famous for having unstable membership and constantly changing. Like parts of stitched body of Frankenstein's Monster… What, you dunno what that means?"

"I know." Ganny raised his hand. "Frank-en-stein's Monster was made up of many pieces, like a jig puzzle."

"Right. But it's JIGSAW puzzle… er… Paul Mark Two." Mr. Capaldi clearly didn't want to admit that he didn't know everybody here, so he used his usual 'analogy' trick, for Paul and Ganny were twins, but their grooves differed though their physical images were identical: Ganny had shorter hair and wore his clothes in such a way that they tended to get messy and dirty, no matter where he was. The same was now: his sleeves were slightly too long, so only his fingers stuck out, and bits of fluff were stuck in his hair. And Paul left an impression as if he had just walked out of a children's beauty salon. If such exist.

"I'm not Paul, or Mark, or Two. I'm Ganny." Ganny, whose real name was John McGann (and he completely despised this name, because 'there are lots of Johns'), checked if Paul was there. He was.

"Fine, Ganny. And you all got it? Frankenstein's Monster was made up of parts, and this band is made up of different members. And quite a lot of funk. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changeeeees! Come and face the strange ch-ch-changes, don't wanna be another man!" Some more guitar sounds. "This way Doctor Funkenstein stayed alive for a long-long time. I was a little boy, barely older than you, when they appeared."

"Oh! Oh! I remember!" David impatiently bounced. "My unca says that he has a whole collection of songs of this band! I saw it! And…"

"Mmmmmmm?" Mr. Capaldi raised one of his monumental eyebrows (which Peter inherited 100%) and made up a cunning grin.

The kids began nervously glancing at each other, wondering what they were to guess. Mr. Capaldi sighed:

"Youngsters!.. Ask your uncle," he poked David in the forehead, "to search for the song called Capers Up My Sleeve. It begins like this…"

"At first I found myself at Waterloo railway,  
I wasn't Napoleon, and had luck not to stay.  
Why did I jump into the train? I didn't know, how bad,  
What was my real homeland or the place for my head."

This was again accompanied with guitar accords. Even Peter didn't know what to answer. He had never seen his dad like this. Serious? Yes. Non-sentimental? No doubt. Harsh? Every moment. Freaking out? Obviously… but not like this.

"And what did you all forget here?" Mr. Capaldi finished playing and frowned at the kids.

"W-wanted to see what you were doing," Matt replied for everybody, making puppy-eyes to his stepfather (though he knew it well that it wouldn't make the adult melt down like a lolly). "It was heard till the attic."

"No more drama, Matthew," Mr. Capaldi shot out and turned the guitar off. "What were you doing at the attic, all of you?"

"Playing," Colin interfered. "All together."

"I see that all toge…" Having not finished the phrase, Mr. Capaldi narrowed his bulging eyes (another family feature) at Matt, who was holding something small between his forefinger and thumb. Matt backed away, but soon found himself 'suspended on suspenders', as his mother called it: Mr. Capaldi was holding him in the air by both his red suspenders.

"HEY!" River and Mels momentarily darted forwards – the first holding a water gun, the second clenching her little coffee-brown fists.

"It's okay, Rivvy!" Matt beamed, though his face got first tomato-red. then beet-red, and showed two thumbs up, helplessly dangling his legs in the air. Mr. Capaldi hung him on a hook sticking from the closest wall and turned his attention to River:

"And what are you going to do?"

Here the whole bunch set up to prevent the most horrible consequences. Everybody knew that River was stubborn. And Mr. Capaldi was a well. But he was an adult. And River didn't fear adults… never.

"Ooooh, she can!" Sylvester put in. "I saw it!"

"Mr. Tennant was few-ree-os," Petey caught up, recalling the event which had taken place almost in front of him the previous morning when they all had been brought to preschool. That time it was David's and Johnny's father who had brought them there. "Cuz someone said that David and Johnny were con… con…"

"MADE," River hinted.

"Yes, made! On a working copying machine!" Petey went on. "And that man laughed. Stupidly. No one else laughed. And Mr. Tennant looked as if he was gonna go kaboom! And River shot from her gun and made that mockery man look as if he wet himself!"

Some of the kids, including Mels, Colin and Chris, made a chuckling motion.

"You made the right thing, River," Mr. Capaldi appreciated. "I bet poor father of the twin boys got mad of unfunny jokes from every corner… but I think you know that you shouldn't do that just for fun."

"I know, Mr. Capaldi," River nodded. Mr. Capaldi hummed as an acceptance, turned to Matt again and lowered him down onto the floor. "Show."  
Matt uncurled his round fist and showed a Lego figurine mostly of dark blue color. Mr. Capaldi twirled it this way and that, then pursed his lips:

"A pastiche, Matthew. A total pastiche it is. Isn't it?"

"Whatssa pasteesh?" Tom asked, blinking at the adult (it seemed that he was constantly parodying him, for they both had bulging watery blue eyes).

"Parody. Imitation. Bad copy. Whatever." Mr. Capaldi placed the figurine onto his palm. "Look at that, I am the ugliest Lego figurine in the world!"

Matt's figurine indeed carried a striking resemblance to the adult in front of him (and his stepbrother too): it had grey hair sticking up, slightly wrinkled face (especially on the cheeks, between nose and mouth) and was dressed strictly, as Mr. Capaldi preferred.

"Let's see what mishmash you created up there."

Even Peter felt uneasy, for his father didn't enjoy tidying up at all (and also he didn't like mess, though occasionally created it). And it was quite a disorder in the attic. Okay, artistic disorder. Chris's spaceship was abandoned next to Jon's unfinished medieval castle, David's and Johnny's skyscrapers were messed up with Billy's Aztec-styled buildings, Mel's hi-tech cars were scattered among Patrick's flying saucers. In the very center was the unfinished mini copies of Big Ben (Paul's and Ganny's work; the tower's upper half lacked a piece with two clock faces, so it looked as if one of the spaceships crashed into it) and Egyptian pyramid (River's work; she was fond of all things ancient). That all apart from a medley of figurines of all colors, genders and hairstyles.

"What, you copied everybody you know?" Mr. Capaldi asked, not knowing where to step not to crush anything: he knew the children's attitude towards adults breaking their belongings. And hopes.

Each of the kids rushed over to their finished or unfinished works. But Mr. Capaldi first gave them a smirk and then began walking around the attic, pointing his finger at the constructions (and at the kids' foreheads):

"Buzz-Cut, spaceships don't have such massive front parts. Yours wouldn't fly if it was real. Consider revising. Matthew, is that a Cloud Cuckoo land? I'd rather call it Cloud Tic-Tac land. Too much green for clouds. Baby Beatle, is that Lilliput you're building? Hey, I am not going to hit you." Patrick indeed curled up in a little ball when the adult approached to him. "It indeed looks like that. You know why? In the Lilliput, there was one human-tall building, and yours looks just like that. Make its base wider, or it's going to fall pretty soon."

Basically, everybody's creations, as childish ones, appeared to have at least one physical or artistic disadvantage. The kids waited until Mr. Capaldi reached his son. They knew it perfectly that some parents thought their children were the most flawless beings in the world and forgave them things which they caught in others. But no. Mr. Capaldi, not even delaying it, pointed out that Peter's blue "polees boks" (this was written on the top of his work) had too small windows and in all he had to practice his spelling.

"You've got a cool dad, Peter," Mels mentioned when Mr. Capaldi left.

"I know," Peter grinned toothily and didn't even change a single letter in the writing, which made the kids snicker again. It was unclear who was more stubborn, father or son.

* * *

**A/N: Count the songs. Count the references. Count the episodes. And shadows too... Kidding.**


	16. Allan's Zee

**A/N: If the Doctors, then catchphrases. And if toddlers...**

* * *

The breakfast was a long time away, and the lunch wasn't even going to begin, which meant that it was drawing time at Coal Hill Preschool. The children set up to work with different amount of enthusiasm and thoroughness, stepbrothers Matt and Peter being at the opposite ends of this range: Matt was full of enthusiasm, but careless and trying to avoid hard work, while Peter did his best, but far not as enthusiastically.

Soon enough the kids began explaining their drawings to Miss Foreman. Most drew things they liked most: for instance, Colin drew two fighting cats, and Sylvester's paper was scribbled with question marks, umbrellas and stars. John 'Simmy' Simm was going to be punished again: he spoiled three or four sheets of paper, and his eventual 'masterpiece' was so doodled that it couldn't be distinguished what was to be described there. But it was David who made everybody puzzled: he drew his dad with some unknown person next to him, holding what looked like a building detail or a zigzag pattern.

"My dad often says about some Allan's Zee," David explained. "We have a neighbor named Allan, and Zee means Zed," he wrote a backwards Z on the free patch of his drawing, "so… I decided to draw dad and Allan's Zee too."

"There's no Allan's Zee!" Simmy interfered and laughed. "There's no Allan's Zee!"

"But my dad says so, and this means there IS!" David jumped up, fists clenched.

"Daviiiiiid, adults tell lots of lies! And this means Allan's Zee is not there!"

"IIIIIIIIIS!"

Odds and ends went flying to all sides, and David and Simmy were rolling on the floor, making chairs and everything else on the floor fall down. It took attempts of all kids present (and Miss Foreman too) to pull them from each other.

* * *

"What a rare sight."

Johnny didn't have to raise his head to guess who this was: dress rustling told it better than anything.

"Hi Miss Idris," he muttered.

"I never saw... will never see... sorry, I never see you without David. Anything happened?" Idris sat down onto the bench near him (Johnny couldn't help but wonder how it was possible to move in such dresses; he had no clue how girls moved around in skirts, and as about this, it left him without a single idea).

Johnny cheered to himself: something was right at least. He didn't know (and no one else did) why Idris often mixed tenses in her speech. As if she was lost in time.

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me lies, Johnny. You know it well that I don't like that." Idris pursed her lips. "I was not... am not... will not tell you lies. Time-o-thee is waiting for you."

"Mr. Tardis?"

"For you he is Mr. Tardis, for me he is Time-o-thee," Idris pointed out. "He is at his working cellar. Planning something grandiose."

"What's grandee-ohs?"

"You'll see."

Johnny recalled that his twin brother was refusing to talk to anybody after that fight, so visiting Mr. Tardis wasn't the worst idea. And he was not the first to do it: when he entered Mr. Tardis's 'workshop', he didn't recognize it. Large space was cleaned from all kinds of items, and a huge painted stage was placed on it. Two boys from Johnny's preschool group, Colin and Chris, were studying it, while the familiar blue top hat with bronze goggles and checkered black-and-white scarf tied around it was placed upside down onto the table. And Johnny knew that Mr. Tardis never went anywhere without his hat and sometimes even used it as a place for safe-keeping small items. For now it was empty.

"There we go." Mr. Tardis's head, similar to a giant sunflower with orange petals (his hair never obeyed being combed and stuck to all sides), showed itself over the stage. "Ah! Johnny! Where's David?"

"Offended," Johnny confessed.

"He fought with Simmy today," Colin put in. "What? It's true."

"Why?" Mr. Tardis crawled from behind the stage. "And you Colin should watch your words in the future, if you don't want to make anyone offended at YOU."

Colin screwed his face into a grimace of half-disgust, half-indifference - his trademark face.

"Well?" Mr. Tardis raised one of his eyebrows, looking at Johnny from the height (though he was standing on his knees).

"David drew a pic of our dad with Allan's Zee," Johnny explained. "Simmy teased him that there's no Allan's Zee and said that our dad was lying about it, and they had a fight."

"Allan's Zee? What is Allan's Zee?" Chris asked.

"Our dad says so when he is in good mood."

Mr. Tardis's face slowly widened in a huge grin, which meant he understood what Allan's Zee was, but he wouldn't tell it. Instead, he stood up and walked to his working table, covered with things like wire bits, cloth patches and all types of instruments.

"Those puppets are not for playing, Patrick," he said, addressing it to another person present - the shyest and most nervous of the whole bunch, who for now was attempting to pull something from behind the table (this is why Johnny didn't spot him at first). "I suppose you know it."

"Mmhmm." Patrick nodded, carefully turning a large puppet in his hands (if placed onto the floor, it would reach Mr. Tardis's knee). "Mr. Tardis, this puppet is unfinished."

"Why do you think so, Patrick?"

"Can't you see?"

Johnny also walked up to him and saw that the puppet was indeed unfinished - it was completely dressed, with fixed hairstyle and everything, but it lacked its mouth. Mr. Tardis laughed, grabbed a huge album from the higher shelf and showed a whole set of stickers shaped like black crescents of different width and length:

"See? These puppets are for scene imitating. And in this case mouth is the most important feature, as well as eyebrows." Mr. Tardis carefully took one of the stickers out of the album with his fingertip and stuck it to the puppet's face. "You recognize who this is, kiddos?"

"It's David!" Chris exclaimed. "But... big David, eh?"

Indeed, the puppet was a beady-eyed and grown-up version of Johnny's twin, dressed in brown pinstriped suit. But even now when its expression was done, Patrick found another moment that caused questions:

"Why are his soles holey?"

"Look here." Mr. Tardis pulled a wooden plank with two round-tipped nails sticking from it and placed the puppet on it so that the nails entered the holes on the soles of its shoes. "See? It's for setting. Now some movements, and..." He fiddled with the puppet and went away to show that it was in a greeting pose now. "Could make any pose." Mr. Tardis began changing the position of the puppet's limbs, but dropped it in the middle of the process, distracted by the sound of something heavy clanking against the stairs leading to the basement. Chris was quick enough to open the door, otherwise it could've finished much louder.  
Something small, but not too light bumped into the pile of old blankets placed next to the entrance.

"I just knew it," Mr. Tardis shrugged and walked over to see what was going on. It was Matt together with his scooter (broken in two), whose face was in the expression of shock and trance which usually comes before realizing the results. The adult scooped him up a moment before it would've become impossible: the kid squirmed like a lizard, howling with pain.

Colin examined the remains of Matt's scooter and summed up:

"Someone stole the nut. That six-sided thing which keeps it all in place."

"Oh my oi... Shhh, Matt, it's okay." Mr. Tardis carefully brushed his fingers over Matt's head and limbs. "No bones broken. No wonder, kids like you are made of rubber..."

"Hu-urts! Mr. Tardis!" Matt squealed.

"It will not become better if you yell about this," Mr. Tardis tutted. "I am sorry, but I have anything that could reduce pain here. I'll help you if you have any injuries, but here - sorry... Don't worry, I'll fix your scooter. But don't even try to drive it over stairs."

"I didn' drive it over stairs," Matt sobbed, his fists clutching the folds of Mr. Tardis's patchwork clothing. "I-I w-wanted to stop it an' walk down, an' the handle-bars... the handle-bars broke off, an' I couldn't stop, an'..."

"Bet that was Tony," Chris interfered. "Simmy ne'er does anything that could harm. He breaks pencils and spoils others' deeds, but he ne'er does anyfing that could hurt. An' he couldn't get that nut off."

Having placed Matt onto the pile of old carpets, Mr. Tardis armed himself with a hankwrench and a small oil cup from his grandiose belt and set off to repair the scooter. He coped with that quickly.

"There we go. Just like new. Check it, Matt," he said, turning the fixed item in his hands. Matt, whose hurt places weren't hurting this much now, completely forgot about pain when he saw that his movable property was even better than before:

"Geronimo! Thank you, Mr. Tardis!"

"Matt, do you know what that means? I mean Geronimo. Johnny came with Allan's Zee, and you came with Geronimo..." Mr. Tardis darted to the stage, hid behind it, and a wooden string-puppet appeared on it, waving its hands. It was floppy-haired and strangely similar to Matt himself. The following was said in a funny squeaky voice. "I still got legs, arms, and fingers, lots of fingers! Ears, eyes, nose... could've been worse... hair... I'm a girl!" At this moment the puppet grabbed its neck. "No! Not a girl! And still not ginger! And something else! I am FALLING! Ha ha ha! Geronimooooo!" His ginger head popped over the stage once again. "Pff-hahaha, sorry. Always wanted to do that. Geronimo was a real-existent person, ya know. An Indian chief. And the jumpers yell his name... you know why? Cuz of the movie. There was a group of rookie jumpers, and their boss told 'em to shout the name of the chief from the movie they saw the day before."

"Really?" Johnny asked, for he knew that Mr. Tardis's head kept a collection of stories, and there was no sureness if all of them were separated - they could get mixed up as well.

"This is the story about which I am 100% sure," Mr. Tardis nodded. "Allan's Zee. Avan Tee! Johnny! Call for your bro, maybe he has already found out what your Allan's Zee is."

* * *

"I told you that you shouldn't fight with your mates, David."

"Dad, but he said that you were a liar!" David objected. "I know that you're not!"

The spiky-haired man in business suit and glasses crouched next to his mini copy and gave him a friendly hug around the shoulders:

"What was it all about?"

"About Allan's Zee," David confessed. "I drew you and Allan's Zee, you always say so. What is Allan's Zee?"

Mr. Tennant laughed carelessly:

"Oh, Dave! There's no Allan with a Zee. It's not Antz to you, son!"

"Then what is it?"

But the explanations was prevented again, because Mr. Tennant inhaled a huge amount of air and arched his brows:

"Johhny! I've told you not to hang out with that crazy hobo!"

"Daddy, but I did not!" Johnny exclaimed, rushing into the living-room. Mr. Tennant's mood was gone in a moment:

"That's what is called lies, boys. That is."

"Okay, I visited him, but there was not too much hanging out," Johnny confessed. "Mr. Tardis help-ted Matt with his scooter. Big bad Tony stole an acorn from it, and it..."

"Tony stole WHAT?" Mr. Tennant burst out laughing. "I bet it was a nut, not an acorn, Johnny!"

Johnny flushed:

"Yeah, well... a nut. Matt's scooter broke in two, and he could've got hurt. And Mr. Tardis fixed it... Daddy, he's not as bad as you think."

"I don't think he's all that bad, but be careful... You know how I figured out that you visited him? You smell like sewn wood. And glue. And mechanic oil."

The twins exchanged their identical grins: they spotted that their dad also liked that smell, and that meant another small victory.

* * *

"Remember one thing: do - not - blink. Blink and you're dead."

The sepia-toned puppet in glasses was gone, and the two remained ones - one male, the other female - turned their heads to each other.

"That is all, the text is complete. What next?" the female puppet asked.

The kids were practically glued to the new puppet theatre stage that appeared at the corner in the morning. And some of their parents and sitters (though some of them did their best to hide it) thought that it was a good idea: both recalling about the traditions and bringing good plots to life. Children liked having a good scare, and this show included evil angel statues and mystery people as well.

"Miss Jones, Miss Jones, that one looks like you!" Matt pounced, pointing his finger at the puppet of a dark-skinned girl with fountain-like hairstyle. Clara, his sitter, pressed on his shoulder to make him keep silent and not prevent anybody from watching.

When the show was over (of course, it was a happy, but mysterious ending as well: some adults thought about things like time loops - those who enjoyed sci-fi mostly), the spiky-haired puppet in glasses appeared again.

"I hope that none of you is going to fear statues since today. But remember: sometimes you ARE to be the most attentive. Allons-y!"

David's brown eyes sparkled. When the curtain was down and the watchers cheered, he bounced up to Simmy (who seemed to be awestruck) and yelled:

"Take that, Simmy! Allan's Zee EXISTS!"

"And now it's time to tell it!" The ginger hat (now with its necessary part - insane top hat) appeared from behind the stage. "It's French. It's the same with Italian Avanti and it means: Forward! Go! Dare!"

"Allons-y, Allan's Zee!" David exclaimed, overjoyed. "You Simmy and your cousins are not awways right!"

"By the way, I've taken fingerprints from the scooter," Mr. Tardis informed casually. "Nohow, you sneakers."


	17. Who Nose

**A/N: Relatives incoming, hm. And references too.  
**

* * *

"I almost got it, Tom!"

"I was the first!"

Clara only wondered to herself how those boys remained being so energetic after such amount of dashes after cars. She had agreed to take her charge Matt and his friend Tom downtown to make some important purchases, and that meant keeping an eye out for both of them. Matt's stepbrother Peter had been left with Mr. and Mrs. Williams together with his friend Billy (and both those boys were calm and serious for their age - a heaven for a conservative sitter). And those two were bottomless bundles of energy.

The fifty-second chase caught Matt and Tom unexpected: the car shot an unexpected amount of smoke out before disappearing. The boys stopped, coughing and shaking their heads.

"Ew!" Matt exclaimed, gasping for fresh air. "Clara, why are cars this stinky?"

"Because of gasoline which is used to fill them. No car can be driven without it," Clara explained.

"But there are ones that can," Tom objected, pulling his favourite striped scarf (it was as long as his three heights at least and was hanging in loops on his neck) not to get choked with it. "I heard that. Why aren't they used?"

"They're still not as widespread as standard gasoline ones. Maybe in some time they will be."

Satisfied with the answer, Matt and Tom set off for another chase. They went on like this until the shop tour started. Perhaps both of them unleashed at least half of their energy, because while Clara was talking with sellers at technical and clothing shops, both of them behaved quite well without breaking or tearing something just for fun, like some children do. Clara didn't think that sense of responsibility came after being punished - some kids understood it after being told or an example. And this referred to both Matt and Tom.

But when it came to bookstore, the behaving flew out of the window: Tom rushed into its doors as if he got burnt from behind, having knocked several 'fan items' from the shelf along the way.

"It here, it here, it here!" he shot out, bouncing on every word. "Hooray! It here!"

"What is here, Tom?" Clara asked, uneasily smiling to the shop assistant: she didn't see that coming, as well as Matt.

Tom pointed at the shelf with brand new books:

"Space Travel is here!"

Clara approached to the shelf and understood what Tom meant. It was a new addition to the collection of children's encyclopedias, written on behalf of a 'time traveller Doctor Who', who, judging by the illustrations, looked much like Tom's adult version. The new book was called Doctor Who Discovers Space Travel.

"My dad writed 'em!" Tom informed, grinning so widely that the corners of him mouth nearly met at the back of his head.

"WROTE," Clara corrected, "and you know that boasting is no good. Even if you speak truth."

"I do." Tom's grin shrunk.

"K-I-N-G M-A-tee-tee," Matt's voice interfered. He was busy studying the bookshelf next to the 'brand new' one. "That my name!"

"Yes, it is," Clara approved. "This is a very good book. King Matt the First. But you're going to read it when you get a bit older, okay, Matt?"

Meanwhile Tom got visibly sadder. That was even creepy: his half-insane and overly energetic self was active all the time, and no one ever saw him cry. Luckily this stage was prevented - either it was luck or anything, but the bookstore doors opened again, and a white-haired chubby man with a cane walked in.

"Hello, Tom," he greeted the boy.

"Hi," Tom shyly waved his hand. "It's Daddy's new book. You saw it, Gramps?"

"Because of it I came here. I knew you won't lose a chance... Isn't that Clara Oswald? Haven't seen you in a while, young lady." The newcomer awarded Clara with a huge toothy grin, just like Tom's. Genetics.

"You know Clara?" Tom wondered.

"Yes, your grandfather knows me," Clara nodded. "He used to serve as a curator at one of the greatest museums of England, and we met there when I was... maybe a couple of years older than you. Then, when I grew up, I used to visit that museum more than once, and there was a case when Mr. Baker wasn't alone. He was together with you, Tom."

"I don' remember that," Tom confessed, shaking his head.

"That's because you were a baby then, Tom. I hoped you'd inhale some knowledge, though I don't believe in space connections via cranial fossa," Mr. Baker stated and grinned even wider.

"What's cranee-al fossa?" Tom wondered.

"This," Mr. Baker placed his forefinger onto the top of his grandson's curly head. "When a baby is born, there's a hole in its head. Right here, covered only with skin. When the baby grows, this hole vanishes. Understood?"

Tom wrinkled his nose.

"Yah. This means I was holey A WHOLE YEAR?!"

"As well as all of us, Tom, as well as all of us." Mr. Baker twirled his cane. "And don't worry about your daddy, kiddo. I promise that he's going to return soon."

"Really?"

"Really-really."

Tom responded with hugging Mr. Baker's waist, and the adult ruffled his curls in return. Then he turned thoughtful.

"Clara, I was sure that there was another young man with you."

Clara facepalmed. What could a little boy do in a huge workshop? Lots of things! She found Matt next to the stand with Harry Potter fan collection items, where Matt was turning various packed wands and blabbing out loud.

"Smoke be gone, la-la-la-la. Stink be gone, na-na-na. Cars not be stinky... and smoky... and smelly..." In addition he pulled a huge Gandalf-styled hat over his floppy-haired head and became similar to a wizarding mushroom (this was Clara's first thought). "La-la-la-la. No more smoky, no more stinky..."

"Matt."

"AAAAHHHH!" Matt dropped the pile of wands and grabbed the brims of the hat.

"Matt, that's not yours. Place is all as it was."

"But you try things on in shops," Matt objected, holding the hat so that his face was seen (it could close his face till chin). "Unfair."

"Well-well-well, little Gandalf, you could've made a wish for your friend," Mr. Baker put in, and Matt took the hat off.

"Which, Missta Baker?"

"You saw which."

Matt glanced first at Tom, then at Clara, then at Mr. Baker. Then he examined the pile of packed wands, scampered to a sci-fi themed stand, grabbed a thick golden-and-black staff-wand-blaster-laser-whatever (Clara didn't know what it was) with a green light at its tip, waved it in the air and whispered something. And beamed like only children can.

"What did you wish?" Clara asked, when Matt placed the 'unidentified handy object' onto its proper place. Matt shook his hat and closed his mouth with his hands:

"Will not tell. It not come true."

"Who knows, who knows?.." Mr. Baker mused and patted the tip of his grandson's nose. "Who knows?.."

"You know," Tom replied and again smiled from ear to ear. "And I know."


	18. Everybody Loves Me

**A/N: A little birthday gift for the creator of this AU - Artdirector123. Count the references. *heehee***

* * *

"Sounds good. Mr. Tardis will like it." Paul pushed another stick into his pocket, having thoroughly tapped it with his finger. "And they are very light... I think enough, Ganny."

"You the main musical expert." Ganny, having nearly ripped his pants against twigs and branches, flopped onto the ground. "But I don't get it. Why he needs sticks?"

Paul shrugged. He and his twin bro were not the only ones who were given such weird task. All the kids from their preschool group were told to bring something weird. Sticks, metal parts, boards and everything like that was to be brought to the backyard of Capaldi-Smith house at the required time (which Ganny could read much better than Paul), which was going to come soon, judging by Ganny's anxious expression.

The twins hurried to the required place. A house before the needed one they bumped into Patrick, who was carrying two huge spools of very rough threads - almost like thin ropes. That was even more riddling. Though no: Sylvester was loaded with a jar of curved nails.

Mr. Tardis was already there, stuff from his working belt spread all over the grass around him. He was sitting on the ground, legs crossed, and rubbing a wooden plank with a piece of sandpaper. Matt and Peter were there as well, in their usual state: Matt was causing a mess, and Peter was tidying it up.

"Hey guys," he waved to the twins. "Brought?"

"Brought," Ganny replied and sat down, while Matt squeed as if he hadn't seen him and Paul for at least a year. "Now more details, Mr. Tardis, 'kay?"

"Music," Mr. Tardis laconically mentioned. "Noise. And... mmmmm..." he gestured to Billy who was digging in a huge chest inside Matt's and Peter's house (it was seen because the back door was opened). "Get that star one, Billy, okay?"

Billy approached to the adult, carrying a pinkish tee with a chubby yellow five-point star in front.

"This?"

"Yeh. Now, Ganny, you're gonna be our Ganny Universe for today."

"WHO?!" Ganny shrieked.

"A superboy with a gem on his tummy," Matt giggled toothily, and all the boys, even Paul, snickered. Ganny blushed, but changed his shirt for the new one. "Imma the Doctor!"

"I thought you didn't want to be a doctor when you grow up," Patrick objected, straightened his bowtie and set off to his task of joining twigs prepared by Mr. Tardis together with threads so that they hung from the hugest plank, forming some kind of a 'wind music'.

"It THE Doctor, deffe-nett artee-kel," Matt put in with serious expression and forefinger raised. "See, I even have a jacket."

To say honest, this was the only change in his usual outfit - red bowtie and suspenders, pink shirt, denim shorts (and the jacket over this made it all look over-complete). Peter lolled his tongue out and pointed at it, expressing disgust: using big clever words was his trademark trick, and Matt wouldn't be allowed to use it even if they were blood brothers.

"I have somefing on my head?" Peter asked all of a sudden. This time it was Colin's time to giggle, for he was the one who caused the suspicion. Which was not a suspicion: a pair of neat triangular ears was sticking out of Peter's tight ashy curls. And Colin needed just that: no one had agreed to be a Warrior Cat together with him. Now there was a ground.

Mr. Tardis finished making a wooden 'wind music' and touched the hanging sticks with his fingers, having made them let out a sequence of sounds:

"Perfect. Perfect. Now you have no choice, Peter!"

"Fine." Peter crossed his arms and pouted. "No makeup, I'm not a girl."

Colin blew raspberries at him: he not only crowned his yellow-curled head with artificial cat ears, but was going to add some more. Or it was Mr. Tardis, who rubbed his hands against his trouser-sleeves, armed himself with two cosmetic pencils (black and red) and set off to 'make Colin up'. First of all he drew a joining line between Colin's upper lip and nose, then added 'whiskers' (three on each side, long, till the ears) and finished it with making his nose tip black.

"Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr purr purr," Colin sang in delight.

Mr. Tardis finished his makeup job and walked up to Patrick:

"Your turn. You're going to be a Monkey-Boy today."

Hardly had Patrick said anything when a belt with a monkey-like tail attached to it was pulled onto him. Matt chuckled and grabbed on it immediately. But this was not the end of the trials. Paul was given a role of the Water Bender (which consisted of a short blue coat and a necklace with wave-like symbols on it), and Billy received several Pokeballs (which he momentarily began juggling with).

"There we are. Now we only gotta meet little Sherlock and Watson..." Mr. Tardis mused. "David and Johnny. And Petey-Davey will be the Itty Bitty Spider Saver. Ha-ha. Now each of you take an instrument..." he gestured at the pile of 'music noise' instruments which he made out of materials which the kids had brought, "...and let's play."

"What?" Matt asked, bouncing as he always did when being impatient.

Mr. Tardis moved his forefingers in the air:

"Oh my! Feels just like I don't try! Looks so good I might die! All I know is EVERYBODY LOVES ME!"

The kids quickly understood what they were to do, and a quite melodic chaos filled the street while the company walked down it. This was going on until there was an intervention represented by a tall well-built guy with a parody beard on the tip of his chin:

"Nobody loves you all, Retardis!"

"Get down, swaying to my own sound," Mr. Tardis replied, not giving up his grin. But Tony, one of the local 'bad guy family members', was not going to give up so easily:

"No one hears your sound."

"Flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me!"

"Everybody! Everybody!" the boys caught up.

"Nobody No-One!" Tony yelped.

"Hope I'll remember all good things that I'll never say!"

"You say nonsense!"

"Don't need my health, got my name and got my wealth," at this line Mr. Tardis swayed his torso, so that his belt rumbled.

"WEALTH?!"

"Stare at the sun, just for kicks I got myself, I lose track of time, so I might be past my prime, but I feel OH SO GOOD..."

"YEEEEEEEAH!" the kids squeaked in unison and rattled their instruments. And they caught up so Tony's shouts remained unnoticed:

"Oh my! Feels just like I don't try! Looks so good I might die! All I know is EVERYBODY LOVES ME!"


	19. Capelmeister

**A/N: This time it's about a wee bit of canon. How could it be left behind?**

* * *

There's nobody outside, no one is going to come and grab you, Peter told himself and hugged his knees even tighter. He didn't do much hugging, but even less admitted that he was terrified to the core. Clara and Matt had gone for weekly food shopping, and Peter had refused to come with them, having motivated this with his usual statement 'I am bored', so now he had to accept the fact that he was all alone at home.

Peter almost calmed down and even began dozing when something sticky and tickling touched the tip of his nose. In a moment he found himself next to the basement door with a table "GO AWAY HUMANS" on it. Just a minute. This table was present when Peter's dad was home (he always hung it onto this door to shoo away those who wanted to know about his past when he was recalling it). Perhaps I missed the moment when he came, Peter thought and knocked loudly, four times.

"I told you millions of times that I don't like the four-beat rhythm," Mr. Capaldi informed, having opened the door. He had been apparently playing music: his fingers were all pink, a clear sign. "And do you know what that," he pointed at the table, "means?"

"Goo awe who mans," Peter smugly stated.

"No, it doesn't."

"This table is broken."

Mr. Capaldi recognized himself and didn't return to the theme.

"You didn't hear me come, Peter. I thought you see and hear everything."

"Dozed," Peter admitted. "What are you playing, Dad?"

"Oh, just a little nostalgia tune."

"What's nostal-gee-a?"

"Missing the past." Mr. Capaldi approached to the musical keyboard and touched the keys.

"Missing the past?" Peter climbed into a huge ex-office chair next to him. "What?"

"Definitely not those who called me Eyebrows!" Mr. Capaldi shot out and simultaneously pressed on the keys, having produced a crashing 'DAAAAAA' out of the loudspeakers on the walls, to which all the instruments here were attached.

Just like the Red Angry Bird, Peter thought. Except that Mr. Capaldi rarely blushed and was outstandingly pale. And could explode in a moment and calm down at the next, what he did.

"Okay son. You REALLY are interested? You REALLY want to listen to your old boring predecessor?"

"Pre-de-who?"

"FATHER, Peter, father. Well?"

Peter nodded, knowing that if his dad wanted to tell something, it was interesting. Convincing him to do so wasn't easy, and he rarely had a wish to tell it all by himself.

"Fine." Mr. Capaldi's long fingers brushed the keys again, this time gentler. "A long-long time ago..."

* * *

_Yeah, they all want just another pretty dude. Not a broken and falsely re-made parody like me. Being born with a sweet face is everything, everything, evvvvverrrryyythiiiiiingggggg...  
_

"What are you doing here?"

The young man in too huge pajamas stopped scribbling the wall with a chalk. He had already covered half of available wallpapers with musical and mathematical marks.

"There was a song, it was stuck in my head," he stated and hummed. "Crazy old me..." He stared at himself, which made his watery blue eyes widen. "What are - those?"

"You were found unconscious at the street," the first speaker, a short round-faced girl, stated. "I supposed you were hit by a car or something. And you'd better go back to bed."

"Yah, I didn't ask for a personal carer," the man snapped. "And don't scare the song, hm? La-la-lee-la-lee... pfffff, knocked me off the track, marvelous."

"I am NOT your carer."

"Never try to control a control freak."

"And I am NOT a control freak!"

"Lee-lee-la..."

Some minutes passed before the silence (if not to count chalk tapping against the wall) was broken again.

"Are you sure you're feeling fine?"

"I do. That maybe-crash gave me this." The man pointed at the writings understandable only to him. "Thank you for the working space."

The girl rolled her eyes, having guessed that he wouldn't care she wasn't the owner of the house.

"Can I ask for the name of the one whom I pulled in here?"

"Capelmeister."

"The REAL name, not the nickname."

"My real name is so boring that I've forgotten it years ago. And I'm not kidding. Last name's Capaldi. Like caps, and capes, and capers. Those who still have brains called me Capelmeister. Why not?"

* * *

"This is the tune that was in my head that day," Mr. Capaldi explained. All this time he was playing a slow and a little bit melancholic tune on the keyboard. "I called it 'Clara'. Because this was the name of the girl who pulled me out of the road."

"Like our Clara," Peter stated. Mr. Capaldi snorted.

"Oh, son, girls are well-known for their desire to stay young and beautiful forever. But that's useless. You know what I mean? No girl would stay young for that long. If I turned ashy," here the older one tugged one of his curls, straightening it, "then what happened to her?.."

"You were telling stories WITHOUT ME?!"

Both stared at the door, which was remained open, and saw Matt with a full paper bag, whose eyes were twice larger than normal.

"You told him a story without me? WITHOUT ME?!" the kid repeated, his lower lip wobbling, and dashed upstairs. "Claaaaaaraaaaa!"

Mr. Capaldi only grinned lop-sidedly:

"One, two, three..."

When his counting reached eleven, Matt peeked into the room again, this time accompanied by Clara.

"I am sure that Mr. Capaldi will tell you this story if you ask well," she told the boy.

"I NEVER repeat stories two times in a row," the adult stated and stood up. Matt's eyes threatened to overflow. "Okay, Matthew. Sorry. You satisfied?"

Matt toddled up to him and half-reluctantly wrapped his short arms around Mr. Capaldi's waist, which made the latter wobble a bit. Clara chuckled to herself and left, having decided that she would rather not listen to that.

"And what is that for?"

"Saying sorry means that you hug after," Matt muttered.

"Told you, son. Never run after those who can come back," Mr. Capaldi said, grabbing Matt by his suspenders and placing onto the chair next to Peter. "Well, Matthew? I told Peter a story, and now I can tell you a different one. Special for you."

"Really?" Matt asked, his spirit clearly joyed up.

"Why would I lie to you?"

* * *

_I didn't turn grey because of sadness. No, I am not alone. I know that if I met someone else it would be wrong as well...  
_

"Is that your own song?"

The grey-haired man twitched his head.

"It obviously is. And you have a bow on your hat, which looks like a fez. What a shame."

The woman who had stopped to listen to this maybe-street-musician (for he didn't look like usual street musicians) indeed wore a red cone-shaped hat with a matching bow attached to it.

"It would be a shame if YOU wore it, Doctor Funkenstein."

The man stopped playing.

"Wow, great."

"And this one was Sleep No More. I had nightmares after I listened to it for the first time."

"I take that as a standing ovation."

* * *

"I think it is obvious who this woman was," Mr. Capaldi smirked at the goldfish-like expression on Matt's face. "It was your mother, Matt."

"And where was I then?" Matt blinked.

"Guess. But it's not about you." The adult flopped onto the chair and sat in a 4-position. "You know what the sweetest words in the world are?"

Peter began running his chin, and Matt sucked on his forefinger, which meant deep concern. But they both could not guess what the answer was.

"All right. I'll tell you. You know, I'm not the most good-looking man in the world, hmm? That face, that hair..." Here Mr. Capaldi imitated a skull: pulled his cheeks in, bulged his eyes and crossed them. The boys snorted with laughter. "That was even worse when I was a kid. People who are not beautiful according to standards are considered retarded, y'know. This is why I like you kids. You still have unspoiled looks... Well, it was like this. I was not pretty, and there was a queen girl in the class. Michelle. All boys and girls obeyed her, except for me and some more lost souls. It went even worse when I took up music. I didn't have long hair or anything else..."

"You had voice," Peter interfered. "Rose says that voice doesn't get older."

"Who's Rose?"

"Chris's sitter," Matt explained.

"Ah, that Rose... Anyway, I wasn't popular. But then, as you know, I became one of the Funkensteins and all. You're going to get bored if I tell you all details... After I and you mother, Matthew, came together and all the discussions about the previous matters were gone, I decided to attend the class reunion, though I believe those are merely comparisons who reached what. I came there with your mother to prove that I was complete according to society standards. When the dance part began, Michelle came to me and said: 'You became popular, and so am I. Now you can ask me for a dance. You don't have any reason to walk around with THAT.' And then I said the sweetest words in the world."

"What were they?" Matt whispered.

Mr. Capaldi grinned Cheshire-like:

"Get - lost. I told the ex-queen bee and now-gossiper to get lost. Ge-ge-get lo-lo-lost. Sweet, sweet, sweet! And in fact," here his face changed to serious, "any words can be sweet if you say them at the right moment."

"And you said that Ca-pal-di is like caps, and capes, and capers," Peter reminded. "It's unfair that there's no such thing for Matt."

"Why not? There are even more. Blacksmith, goldsmith, wordsmith, wintersmith. Smith-smith-smithy, the master of all trades!" At the ending words Mr. Capaldi jumped up and approached to the door in bouncy way, as if he had heels with springs.


	20. The Blind Side

**A/N: This was an offered idea. Why not? Offered ideas are considered and attempt to be accepted!**

* * *

Peter curled up in a ball both with cold and with desire not to be seen. He only now understood that he had no clue how to get out of here unnoticed. The preschool group to which he belonged had been taken to a museum tour, and Peter always found that numbers were apparently boring, so he had taken his own way. And, as a result, the group had left without him. Odd: usually Miss Foreman was very attentive.

"If that's you, Curry, I'll REDRUM you," Peter muttered, having recalled about the boy who happened to share his face with him. Caecilius (who preferred the nickname 'Curry', for he thought that 'Caecilius' was a 'boring name') loved phone-pranking and sticking his nose everywhere, so it would be no wonder that if it was him. And Peter knew that the word 'REDRUM' knew something awful. No matter what. He was ready to do that to Curry. Or to anyone interfering.

When silence began pressing his ears, Peter crawled from under the staircase and made his way to the exit. He wasn't worried about being left behind. Kids got lost every day, as they told on the radio. And told to get lost even more often.

Having got outside, Peter understood that it was going to be long. The group had been taken to the museum by bus, and it had taken quite a time. Besides, it was impossible to memorize all those turns and twists. But Peter knew that walking would take you somewhere if you walk long enough, so he stepped out.

* * *

"The bus is empty, Miss Foreman. Peter's not there." Chris, panting, joined the group after having searched through the bus. Miss Foreman finished her phone call and addressed all the children:

"I've called the search service. And your guardians are going to come and get you all home. But now, all of you, recall where you have seen Peter before we realized he was gone. All right? Billy?"

"Natural history sec-shen," Billy recalled. "He was making fun of tyranno-sau-roos. Saying he could understand him."

"I saw him there too," Jon approved, and Petey nodded in concern.

"I saw him in souvenir shop," David interfered. "Before we left. He said dat AAAAAALLLLL the statuettes were wrong."

"Yep," his twin Johnny nodded.

Miss Foreman turned to Sylvester, who had been the first to find out that the group was incomplete, but now he couldn't tell anything proper - perhaps he had a feeling of guilt: he couldn't even nod or anything, just fiddling with his beloved question mark-handled umbrella.

"Will Peter be found?" Matt asked, his lips wobbling.

"I don't think that he could get too far, Matt. Pretty sure he'll be back soon."

* * *

Peter regretted that he didn't have a watch. Frankly, he had the slightest idea about recognizing time, but he couldn't wait until he could get his own watch, though here it would be nothing - he was walking on forever. And the clouds closing half of the sky didn't promise anything good.

It was the middle of the working day, so no one was out to spot the odd sight - a four-year-old walking somewhere on his own. Peter didn't confess even to himself that he was tired. But his feet carried him to the local bookshop, as he felt that he could stay there for some time.

Peter's feet were aching by the time he found something familiar downtown, where there was quite a lot of shops and cafes - it was a Mexican cafe where his and Matt's family once had had a dinner (which had resulted in Matt running around, yelping that 'his mouth was burning', and that evening he had eaten all custard from the fridge; what to say, Matt loved custard, especially in odd combinations like fish fingers and custard). A pointer or else, great. The sun almost baked Peter's back through his dark blue jacket by the time he finished his exploring and entered the shady bookshop - carefully, for he didn't want to hit the bell over the door and make anybody alert.

It was quite cool here. Funny thing, but Peter didn't feel hungry until he entered, and only now he felt that his stomach was about to 'complain'. And he didn't have any money with him. Okay, Peter thought, clenched his teeth and crept to the labyrinth of shelves.

Having decided there was nothing much else to do (apart from relaxing in coolness), Peter began practicing his reading skills. There was no one to correct him, gorgeous. But the book names didn't tell Peter anything exact (and the book named Like Water for Chocolate teased his appetite right on time, when Peter almost abandoned paying attention), and cover pictures even scared him a bit, so he stopped doing it. Fan items didn't make him interested either, and the huge beanbag seemed to be the best option.

* * *

Matt was sitting, having wrapped himself into a blanket from feet to head, so only his nose and fingertips were sticking out. Clara knew it well that this was the state of children nature which should be either got rid of from the very beginning or not disturbed. Who said that children forgot things quickly? They could get even more desperate than most responsible adults. Mainly because they know what being helpless means. But she still decided to give it a try.

"Matt?"

The boy remained motionless, just sniffed his nose.

"Matt, the search is in process. Peter will be found."

"Did they say so?" Matt mumbled, staring at his knees.

"Think yourself: if you were Peter, where would you go?"

"Somewhere. Hide."

Clara sat down onto the floor next to Matt and placed him together with the blanket on her lap:

"See? You know your bro better than anyone."

"His dad knows him better..."

"For now it is you. Children know each other much better than adults. Matt, where would you hide if you were Peter?"

"Dunno. Somm-wherrre dark and quiet and silent."

"That's a good beginning..."

The sound of mobile phone vibrations against the wood made both start with surprise. Sometimes Clara really wanted to toss this device into the wall, and this would be the fitting moment if it were not for tension.

* * *

Peter wrinkled his face and opened his eyes when a thick beam of light was directed right onto him. For some moments it was all blurry to him, but then he understood about being spotted, squeaked and hid behind the beanbag.

"Yes, it's him," an adult voice summed up. Peter peeked from behind the beanbag, blinking to get his sight back. When it fully returned, he saw that the talker was familiar to him - it was Ian Chesterton, the teacher from the school at which Coal Hill Preschool was located, this is why many kids knew who that was. But the listener was someone completely new.

"Yeah, it's me," Peter spoke, trying to sound as rude as possible. Adults didn't like rude kids, and he knew it. This is why he was taken aback when the stranger grinned. Such old people could not possibly smile, they only knew grumbling - this was the second odd feature.

"Little boy lost. How familiar. Sounds like The Twilight Zone of my youth," the stranger said. "But I don't believe in curses anymore. Temporal anomalies are possible, but curses? Don't make me laugh."

Peter thought that he could've escaped between the adults' legs (it was Chris who had taught him to do so), but it was impossible here: the stranger was wearing a long coat, and Mr. Chesterton blocked all the ways out unwillingly. Then another thing made Peter forget about his escaping plans: he spotted something very wrong. Something that he had never seen before.

"One, two, three, four, five... SIX?" Peter counted once again and even rubbed his eyes in disbelief, but the number of fingers on the stranger's hand seen to him remained unchanged. Impossible and which cannot be.

"One finger handier than I should've been. Bitter truth."

"Stop creating the superstitions, Ford," Mr. Chesterton put in. Peter snorted:

"Ford? That's like a car. A car with six... wheels!"

"Next time when you're asked about who found you, tell just that. Car with six wheels! Huh huh. Children."

Before Peter could've found another reply, the doorbell rang, and the bookshop silence was pierced with a war cry of "PETEEEEEEEER!" In a moment the named kid was supine on the beanbag again under the wriggling weight almost equal to his own.

"Stop iiiiiit," Peter muttered, attempting to stand up under Matt who was struggling to hug his stepbrother. "No hugging, Matt! No hugs!"

"I thought you were cat-napped! Or else!" Matt shrieked.

When Clara caught up with them and Peter (to his huge dissatisfaction) was hugged again, this time properly, he had to tell it all. Otherwise no one would get away from him.

"...and then they woke me up. Mr. Chesterton," Peter looked around to check his presence (and Mr. Chesterton was reading some classics with epic name not far away from there), "an' the man with a name like a car and with six fingers on hands." He turned his head, but the stranger was gone for good. "An' his glasses were cracked... Clara, is six-finger-thing bad?"

"It can't be, Peter," Matt interfered and showed his hand as a proof. "Five fingers. Toonies have four. Six?"

"Anyway, Peter, I do believe that you're not going to run away like that again. Are you?" Clara's voice was soft, but the sense was clear. And Peter knew it couldn't be argued.

"I'm not. I promise... And there were SIX. I am sure."

* * *

The next morning, when Peter received the required portion of being blamed and questioned, he became the object of attraction once again. Unwillingly.

"Aaaah! David drew Allan's Zee, and you drew..." John Simm's face first expressed wonder, then evil-like triumph. "Hah! I knew you're bonkers!"

"Simmy, my bro's not bonkers!" Matt immediately bounced up and stood between him and Peter.

"He's not even your bro," Simmy teased. "Yeh, toon characters have four fingers. And what's THAT?"

Peter's drawing was nothing else than a print of a hand with six fingers. A bit crooked, but realistic.

* * *

"You didn't have to do that, Peter," Clara was convincing Peter, while applying a cream to his newly-formed black eye.

"But Clara, I told the truth! He indeed had six fingers, just like that! And he had a funny name, like a car, and..."

"Peter, I do believe you... sit still, okay? Yes, like this. There's a thing called blind side."

"Blind side? Like me now?" Peter asked, staring at Clara with his opened eye.

"Not really. Those who prefer to stay on that blind side believe that nothing weird can happen and that it simply does not exist. Didn't you believe that the world vanished when you closed your eyes?"

Peter blushed: he recalled that he used to think just like that when being twice younger.

"See? Simmy is on the blind side in this case. You know, I once watched a movie which completely matches the situation. It was about a witch girl who didn't want to fall in love, so she made a wish that her destiny would be a man who could flip pancakes in the air, had eyes of different colors - blue and green, his favourite shape was a star and he was marvelously kind. She thought that she would never meet such person, but she did. A perfect match."

"He had six fingers, cracked glasses, funny car-like name and talked about terpomal abnomalees," here Peter showed his fist with thumb sticking out. "Me right. I met a man at whom someone made a wish. Not me."

"Know what, Peter? There are people who have small oddities. Too many toes or fingers, different eyes or something."

"Me not on the blind side. I believe."

"Promise you're not going to fight with Simmy or anyone else again."

"Mm-hmm."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry. Just had to do it. Because what can be better than one fandom? TWO! Or maybe more? It's just about the amount. *chuckles* At first I wanted to add a real-existing blind character, but couldn't find anybody fitting, so this was the version 2.0. **

**Note: the movie which Clara mentions in the end is Practical Magic. **


	21. Blackface

"We're not done with you yet, Pertwee!" Tony yelped, shaking his fist at Jon while running away. The boy had caught Tony and his cousins-sibling-whoever red-handed while torturing a stray cat they found somewhere. Luckily they hadn't managed to do too much harm: the cat received some scratches apart from horror, which was seen from its fur sticking up and fangs out.

"You did the right thing, Jon," Miss Foreman appreciated.

"You said that we should be nice to everyone, and this means 'em being nice to animals too," Jon shrugged.

When Tony and his gang were gone from sight, Tom decided to check on the cat's condition, crawled under the bush and in a second darted outside:

"Yowwwww! Almost scratched my eye out!"

"In his case staying two-eyed was almost im-po-ba-bell," John 'Simmy' Simm loudly whispered and snickered evil-like - he was one of Tony's cousins-siblings-whoever, and shared the evil-like character as well. The next was said out loud. "Better get along with your... Kit-10!"

"It's K-9, Simmy," Tom murmured. K-9 was the name of his Aunt Sarah's dog.

By the sound of rustle it came clear that someone else decided to try out the fate and calm the poor animal down. And it proved to be true and deja vu: Jon got out of the bushes (his fancy-like clothes all in leaves and twigs), carrying the animal in his arms (which were hardly enough to provide the comfort).

There was an astonished pause. Even Miss Foreman was taken aback and didn't know what to say.

"He's so brave!" Patrick whispered to Matt, who nodded.

"Miss Foreman, is there a doctor for cats?" Jon asked. "I fink she needs some help."

"How do you know that it is 'she'?" Simmy put in.

"Kitties," Jon pointed at the bushes and showed his fist to Simmy. "See this?"

* * *

"All that you did was completely right, Dandelion."

"I hear that for the second time, Dad," Jon confessed and showed two fingers as a proof. "And don' call me Dandelion."

"Why not? Someone still calls me Dandy. Dandy and Dandelion. Doesn't it sound good? And besides," the large hand with quick long fingers patted Jon on his head full of almost white puffy hair in large loops, "this gives me an additional reason."

"Patrick thought I was brave, but I did all like you taught me."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't hess-see-tate." It took Jon a bit of time to recall the word. "You said animals understand who is the adult and who is the kid. I thought the cat knew I was a kid. And I asked Miss Foreman 'bout animal doctor."

"And you wanted to do something else, didn't you?"

"Yes," Jon confessed. "I was... I wanted..."

"To let Tony know what he did to the cat? Beat him, or scratch him?"

Jon swallowed a lump in his throat and shakily nodded.

"That's completely all right to feel rage. You're not a whole-positive cadaver, and neither am I."

"What's cadaver?"

"Something HIGHLY unnatural," Mr. Pertwee raised his forefinger. "But, Jon, the most important is to keep yourself together. If you feel enraged, you should not jump onto the opponent immediately, or you could make it even worse. Take some deep breaths and calm down. Trust me, Dandelion, I've been in such situation."

Jon didn't even bother about being called 'Dandelion' once again. When the storm in his head calmed down, he recalled another thing.

"Ganny."

"What?"

"Ganny. He looked sick. I'm worried about him."

"Who's Ganny?"

"Paul's twin brother. Paul got ill, and Ganny looks... lost," Jon confessed. "He not talks a lot, and now he's..." he moved his finger along his lips. "Complee-te-ly."

"Not wishing to talk?"

"Mm-hmm. He was such when he appeared. Then he got cheerfuller. And now he's not talking again. Maybe he got sick."

"Whoever decided to call him Ganny? That's not even a name."

"He wants every-single-one to call him so. His real name is John, and he says 'bout lots of Johns."

"What did you say? Paul caught an illness?"

Jon nodded.

"I suppose you should tell me where they live, Dandelion."

* * *

Ganny wasn't worried that 'mama Grace', as Paul called her, was not helping him. She was in another room, asleep in her outside clothing. And this meant she should not be disturbed. Ganny knew it well, and he didn't want to be punished. Though 'mama Grace' never punished Paul... No. Paul was not Ganny. Paul was a sweet 'little adult', as grown-ups love calling such calm and confident kids. And Ganny was more of a 'little walking trouble', as the family which used to raise him said.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. This all wasn't bothering Ganny, but the state of his twin bro was.

Knock knock knock.

For the first time feeling that his feet got tired of running from one room to another, Ganny lowered the temperature of the cooker part under the pot of boiling rice and toddled to the doors, pulling a high stool after him (for he was too tiny to reach the spyhole).

"Anybody in there?"

Ganny climbed onto the stool and stood on his toe tips to see who was there.

"Hello?" the same voice repeated. That was the voice of Jon, the most protective and the most confident of all the kids from the preschool group which Ganny and Paul attended. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"Me here," Ganny muttered in confusion.

"Ganny? That you? Open, please!"

"Jon?"

"Yes! Open, okay?"

Ganny turned the key and regretted it twice. First: the rule of not opening the door to strangers was valid at all times. Second: Jon wasn't alone, and he wasn't a prisoner. He was accompanied by an enormously tall man dressed in a frilly shirt and a large floppy bowtie. The image was completed with a fluffy mass of ash-colored hair, just like Jon's.

"So you're Ganny, aren't you?" the adult asked, critically examining the kid from tips of wavy reddish brown curls sticking to all sides to the toes seen through holes in his socks. "Why are you this sweaty, like a boiling kettle? No, not like that. Where's Ms. Holloway?"

"It's okay, Ganny, he's my dad," Jon interfered.

"Oh, PLEASE be quiet! Well, Ganny?"

"I-in there," Ganny hesitated, pointing at the end of the corridor.

"And why isn't she helping you? I see that you've been doing something... not too childish all alone. Why, Master McGann?"

"I'm not any Master," Ganny muttered. "She's sleeping. She's adult, and she needs sleep."

"A-ha. Jon, be a good boy and listen here..." The next words were quick and said in half-whisper, so Ganny didn't hear anything exact. But Jon understood and scampered to the other side than Grace's room. "Now, where's your bro?"

Ganny pointed at the needed direction with trembling hand. Mr. Pertwee understood, grabbed Ganny by the back of his hoodie and walked upstairs with him. The sight of the twins' room made him click his tongue:

"Oh my. Oh my, oh my. Were only you taking care of him, Master McGann?"

"Mama Grace was out. I had to," Ganny confessed, having pulled the hoodie out of the adult's grasp. Mr. Pertwee opened the window (which was half-closed) and sat down onto Paul's bed where the second twin was. He looked awfully - all sweaty and pale, and obviously feverish.

"What exactly did you do?" Mr. Pertwee asked, and Ganny felt as if a lump of ice rocked inside him.

"I-I gave him a lot of liquid. Warm water mostly. And also milk. Mama Grace told me that sick people are to drink a lot. And I kept the air fresh. And..."

"I hope you did not give him any medications, huh?" Mr. Pertwee's intonation turned strict, and Ganny shook his head. "Clever boy. Now bring me a thermometer."

Ganny obeyed, but did that as quickly as he could, for he didn't want to leave his brother alone or with someone not from their family.

"P-Paul was ill all week long, an' Mama Grace took care of him when I could not. H-he was getting better, an-and today..." Ganny hiccuped, but continued, "he couldn't even eat today. Yesterday h-he - hic - was a'most okay. Mam Grace thought he was ready to go to preschool again. An-and today..."

"What happened?"

"In the morning Paul was all fine, but later he got compl... fully sick."

"Hmm, you say he couldn't eat? What did he eat in the morning?"

"Dunno." Ganny scratched the back of his head. "Cheese or something, I didn' watch him..."

Mr. Pertwee stood up and walked to the kitchen, Ganny following him (he was to know what was going on, though Jon was here, and it was good news). Jon was ready to present the results of his investigation, though he was doing his best to keep himself from grimacing and tossing what he found away: it was a carton of cottage cheese, the smell of which left no doubts.

"Yeah, smell of vomit leaves you to search for source," Mr. Pertwee summed up. "Toss that away, Jon, it's no good... I'm afraid your bro got a food poisoning."

"What he got? An-an-and he's gonna die now?"

"No, he's not, Master McGann. But he still needs care. Once spoiled food is out of his digestive system, it's going to get better than... Why did you think he's going to die?"

"Cuz poisoning," Ganny confessed, digging the floor with his foot tip. "Those who cared 'bout me before offen said they would poison me and then it turns better... Whatssa dee-gess-teev?"

"Seems like they didn't care about you at all. And digestive system is everything between mouth and backside," Mr. Pertwee pointed at Paul's belly as a proof.

"As I said, I smelled vomit when I came in."

"Mm." Ganny nodded, approving that it had taken place. "Paul ate dat cheese and... What I gonna do?"

"I will take care of that." This was put in by Grace, upon the sight of whom Ganny curled up in a little ball. "Hey, Ganny, what is going on?"

Ganny hummed something unintelligible.

"What did you say, Ganny? I can't hear you."

"I all wrong," Ganny replied.

"Who made you think so?" Grace crouched next to him and ran her hand through his hair. Ganny flushed:

"All. I dunno what to do, an'... You tired of me."

"Listen up, John McGann: I am never going to get tired of you. Never and ever. You understood that?" Grace's tone was solemn, so even such 'wrong-searcher' as Ganny couldn't find anything wrong in this.

"But you slept there."

"It was not because of you. Stop blaming yourself for things you have not done." Grace scooped Ganny up and kissed him on the top of his head. "I know that the first group you got in could not become your family. But I promise I'll do my best for you to feel home here..."

"I see, young Master McGann loves his brother," Mr. Pertwee put in. "Doesn't he?"

* * *

"Oh, great. First we lacked the longhair, now we lack the blackface," Mels summed up after the ending of another preschool day. Today Paul and Ganny finally had come together, and now the latest one was missing.

"Mels, YOU are blackface! NOW!" Chris yelped at her. He knew that teasing others for their outer special features (Mels was the only dark-skinned child of the group) was no good, but here it was just unfair, and he hated anything unfair.

Soon all the kids, having abandoned waiting for their guardians to take them home, were scampering around the preschool yard in the search. Finally Billy shouted that he found the escaper: Ganny was sitting in the corner between the school building and the fence, muttering something to a grey dog which was happy to have such mate. Otherwise it wouldn't wave all of its back part so insanely.

"Oh, K-9! Auntie Sarah was worried about you!" Tom exclaimed and whistled to the dog. "Looks like you made friends with Ganny... Ganny? What..."  
It was unpleasant, but Mels was right about the 'blackface': Ganny's face was covered in dirt, and it smelled like burnt hair (though the kid's hairstyle was undamaged, though messier than usually).

"Calmed your doggy down, Tom. Tony was tryin' to burn him."

"BURN?!" the kids parroted.

Ganny nodded:

"Mm-hmm. He finks it's funny."

"Me - not." Jon grabbed a stick from the ground and hit it against his palm. "I know what Tony doesn't like. Heheheh, hahahahah!"


	22. Reverse the Popularity

"That's not fair. We could prepare one task together," David was complaining, while waiting for Rose, the guardian of him and his twin brother Johnny, to come and take them back home from preschool. Today the problem was the extra task which Miss Foreman had given them. She had told the kids about different traditions of expressing love (some of the staff did not adore her teaching methods, but the children loved them) and had given them a task to find a 'token' which played a significant role in their families. One kid - one token, and David did not like that at all.

Tom, of course, was the luckiest. He knew that the imposingly long scarf that he almost always wore had so many stripes because every generation added the stripe of a new color to it. His task was already completed, and the rest of the kids had to think about this.

* * *

Peter was pondering what to do in his room when the door shot open and his father entered, closely followed by Matt.

"You sure it'll work?" Matt asked, making biggest puppy-eyes to his stepfather. "Mama never told me 'bout that."

"Think a bit with that brilliant little head of yours," Mr. Capaldi responded. "Does anybody wear a bowtie fez without a reason? I bet it's the token you're searching for. Come on. I am not going to help ya anymore."

"Okay!"

Matt scampered away, and Peter pouted.

"Hey, what's the matter, son?" Mr. Capaldi asked, sitting down onto the floor to be at the same level with Peter.

"You help-ted Matt. Not me," Peter murmured.

"You know why I am not helping you, son? I believe you're clever enough to find MY token. I hinted Matt with his mother's token, and you can find mine. Come on, Peter."

Peter, not giving out that he got curious, began examining his father with his look. Grey hair which managed to be curly and stick up at the same time, high forehead, crooked nose, bulging blue eyes (now even huger, because they always became like that when Mr. Capaldi was eagerly waiting for anything), zipped blue hoodie, checkered pants, worn shoes... hold on.

"Why do you always wear that ring, Dad?" Peter fixed his look on his father's left hand - to be exact, on the finger next to pinkie. "It's... no one wears rings."

"I do," Mr. Capaldi objected. "This is why this finger is called RING finger, got it? And for me, it's not just jewelry. It's my very own token."

"Because mother gave it to you?"

"Not only that. There was time when I thought I was gonna die. No one believed that I was going to ever live fully again. And even to stand up. But, as you see..." Mr. Capaldi performed a twirl on the toetips. "And then your mother gave me this ring."

"Why the ring?"

"Because the ring has no ending or beginning, as well as love."

"And why this finger? Mebbe it's too big for a pinkie, and..."

"Hm, no. People used to believe that there's a vein that goes from this finger directly to the heart."

Peter at first stared at his own hand, then at his father's. They seemed to be practically identical, except that the adult's hand was of much larger scale and not as soft, especially on fingertips. The boy touched the tip of his father's ring finger and traced the way to the heart.

"Yes, just like that. Watch this." Mr. Capaldi attempted to pull the ring off the finger, but it got stuck on the very first joint. "I've been wearing it for so long that it became practically a piece of me. Like you."

"I not a metal lump."

"No, you're not. But you're someone I created... okay, participated in creating you. You're not my ear or anything."

"Bein' an ear is tedee-ohs," Peter stated.

"Don't forget that you're not anyone's ear," Mr. Capaldi finished without the explanation and patted Peter's shoulder, which meant 'it's done, nothing more to say'. But in a moment his expression turned suspicious, then cunning. He placed his forefinger on his lips and gestured Peter to follow him.

Peter, riddled with sudden actions, obeyed. Mr. Capaldi entered the bedroom, nodded at the chest of drawers in the corner and knocked on the lowest one.

"Get out! Or you're gonna choke in there," he ordered. To Peter's astonishment, the drawer responded with a groan. Mr. Capaldi leaned over to Peter and whispered: "I heard that. What's the name of the mischief maker who tortures animals?"

"Tony," Peter replied.

"Watch this." Mr. Capaldi knocked once more. "Come on Tony, get out! This is it, I need this drawer. Come on!"

"Boo," the drawer responded in Tony's voice. "Try to get me out. You let me in, after all."

"Okay. I did. Didn't lock the door. Crazy old me." Mr. Capaldi rubbed the back of his left hand against his front. "Enough air?"

He pulled the drawer out to reveal Tony, practically folded in two, so it was no wonder that he couldn't get out by himself. Tony was much bigger than Peter or Matt, and even River, but there was enough meanness in him for two or even three kids of his age.

"I'll tell it all to my dad! No one will believe you, because you're a mad old man with..." Tony wasn't the kid of the most sly family ever for nothing. But Mr. Capaldi had his own ways. He pointed his left hand clenched in a fist at Tony's face and pronounced:

"Tonius turnis inus catus! Dominus Temporus!"

Then he blew at his ring, as if getting rid of smoke, and turned away. Tony blinked.

"What did you say there?"

"What?" Mr. Capaldi asked innocently.

"That... turnip-turn-it-fatus-katus... or anything," Tony replied.

"Ah, that?" Mr. Capaldi knitted his eyebrows together. "This is the slowed-down transfiguration spell."

"Trans-foo-what?"

The adult sighed.

"What is going on in your tiny little funny brain? Bored! You think you're the cleverest, hmph? Even me - me, who is several times older than you both," he nodded at Peter, then at Tony, "knows what transfiguration is. Haven't heard about Hurius Potter?"

"It's Harry Potter, dad," Peter hinted.

"Well, I like Hurius more. It sounds more... graceful. Okay then, Tony, y'know that wizards use not only wands? I use this ring. And the core is that if you..." here Mr. Capaldi stepped closer to Tony, "...blab something to your parents or anybody else..." one more step, "...don't get surprised..." one more, "...if the next morning you wake up with a piglet's snout or cat ears. Poor old Saxon, he'll have to get you a mini gas mask... Hey, what's up?"

Tony was not an easy believer. But he knew that Mr. Capaldi did not like wasting the air with empty promises.

"And what if I don't tell him anything?" he asked.

"Hm, p'haps the spell won't work," Mr. Capaldi shrugged, grabbed Tony by his tee and pulled him out of the house, then returned to his son. "See? My token is also a good weapon against nosy kids. With a bit of psychology, 'course."

* * *

The next day most kids brought drawings of the 'tokens' they managed to find at their families, as far as their parents did not allow them to take the items themselves. Only Jon and Tom had the actual things: Tom had his eternal scarf, and Jon brought a mixture of a thick silver pen and a laser pointer which he called a 'sonic hackwrench' (yes, just like that - hackwrench). He explained that this item had helped his father to escape the unfair judgement - not without the help of Jon's mother.

"He-yow, Miss Foreman! Peter copied my token!" John 'Simmy' Simm immediately called out upon having seen Peter's drawing. He had a ring as well.

"I did not!" Peter yelped and, enraged with this lie, almost bounced onto Simmy, but Miss Foreman prevented to fight this time:

"John, tell your token story first. And I don't think that Peter could copy yours."

"Yeh! My mother kept this ring when my dad was gone! And she returned him with it!" Simmy shot out.

"Was he sick? Cuz my dad was. My mum believed that he could get well again, an' no one else did!" Peter parried. "An' it's magic!"

"Magic? He he he he!"

"Why didn' your bro-cousin Tony come out today?" Peter asked slyly. "He was scared, huh?"

"Er..." Simmy's face froze in a fusion of I-don't-get-it and of-course-not. Anyway, he didn't have anything else to say, and this meant that the fight was won by Peter. Very satisfied, he returned to his place and listened to the next story, which was Matt's.

Not only Peter and Simmy had interceptions today. The second one, having revealed that Peter was not so easy to be cracked (at least now), got stuck to Jon when he heard that the 'sonic hackwrench' could 'reverse the popularity', whatever that meant.

* * *

Dum-dum-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da, dum-dum-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da.

Matt thought that it was Mr. Capaldi playing, but he knew that the adult was absent tonight, and it revealed to be Clara playing his synthesizer.

"Why you play such scary music?" he asked, meekly entering.

"Scary, not scary... Just don't tell Peter's dad about this, okay?" Clara asked, and Matt nodded. "It is Empire March from Star Wars."

"Woosh woosh woosh," Matt inhaled and exhaled.

"Yes, almost like that."

"Clara, what is 'reverse the popularity'?" Matt asked, climbing onto the seat next to her. "Jon said that his so-nee hack-wrench could do it."

"Emm..." Questions of children required answering. Clara had no doubt that nothing's heavier than curiosity of a child. And nothing more demanding. "I think here it worked another way."

"Which?"

"Just like that: I've heard what Peter's dad told Tony. Simmy's the most popular kid in your group, eh?"

"Nah, he's mean," Matt snapped.

"And your dad reversed his popularity. Made it less. All right?"

Matt nibbled on his forefinger.

"Uh-huh..."

"I know you could do it as well, Matt, because you've got a boneless tongue."

"Yessssss," Matt nodded and bit on his tongue to check it.

* * *

**A/N: Outer references:  
1) Mr. Capaldi calls Harry Potter 'Hurius' for a reason. There is a book series parodying Harry Potter (and developing the very personal plot later) where the main character is a girl whose last name is Grotter, who has a strange mole on the nose tip, who uses a contrabass as a flying vehicle and whose magical item is a ring instead of wand. These series also have a very specific character: dark hair, forehead scar, glasses, skinny, brilliant flyer, dark eyes - a 'mixture' of Harry and Viktor Krum, whose name is Hurius.**  
**2) Clara tells Matt that he has a 'boneless tongue' - a reference to a Slavic idiom that sounds just like that and means a witty person who loses no time in finding a quick and humorous answer.**


	23. Puttin' on the Ritz

**A/N: Sorry for the hiatus. Had lots of scrap versions, and this time it's all about TV matters. And new characters, haha.  
**

* * *

When Sarah Jane brought the news about the upcoming events relating to the children, Miss Foreman wasn't too pleased. At first.

"The next Battle of the Sexes is going to need eight girls and eight boys of about this age, just for one issue. And their task is not going to be hard," Sarah Jane informed after the day at preschool was over.

"Are you sure it's a good idea for them to be shot?"

"It is going to be interesting for them. I could take care about a studio tour as well."

Finally, after quite long negotiations (during which the children, their parents being warned about the possible delay, were waiting at the corridor), Miss Foreman exited the room and announced:

"Children, I have an announcement. Come in."

The kids quickly took their seats, eager to hear anything new. Most of them.

"You are going to have a tour around the TV studio. But along that, eight boys are required to take part in one of the shows."

"Which? Which?" Matt bounced on his chair.

"You will see everything, because all of you are going to come."

"And who will take part in the show? What will they do?" Billy interfered.

"I want it all to be fair, and I'm sure everyone does. Let's do it like this. You will write your names on the paper bits, and then you will walk on in a turn and pull the bits out of a box. There will be clean ones too. Those eight whose names are pulled out the first, will take part. And no cheating, mind."

The kids set off to the task, and soon the tin box which used to contain cookies was filled with yellow paper pieces.

* * *

"Hello, little ones." A tall, but chubby man with hair sticking to sides like dog ears entered the room where the eight chosen boys - Petey, Matt, David, Johnny, Sylvester, Patrick, Chris and Jon - and eight girls unfamiliar to them were waiting. "Girls, please follow Jessica," he gestured at the woman accompanying him, "and boys, follow me. You can call me Mr. May."

The children obeyed and found themselves in a room filled with all kinds of clothing: from casual suits to carnival-like outfits. The only furniture here was some chairs and a table with a huge mirror.

"Now, boys, try these on." Mr. May showed the boys a pile of colorful garments. "Decide who of you gets which outfit, and no fighting, mind. When you're ready, just call for me, okay?"

"Okay," the boys agreed, and the man exited. But they were not left alone.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, I thought your dad wasn't going to take part in this, James!" One of the 'curtains' of clothing hanging on hooks moved, and a head crowned with tight dirty blond curls poked from behind it. "So it's true, huh?"

"Who's there?" Jon walked over to the 'curtain', but too late: two more kids rolled from behind it.

"There's ME!" The curly kid crossed his arms and smirked at his pals: the small spiky-haired one who looked somehow similar to the twins David and Johnny and the one in stripy purple sweater who oddly resembled Mr. May. "And Hamster and Slow as well!"

"Shut up, Jezza," the small kid snapped. "Don' listen to Jeremy, he's nuts."

"What, you don' like the truth, Richard?" Jeremy sneered.

"I'm warning you: I don' like the big heads," Chris interfered, "and I see yours is big big big."

"Not bigger than yours... You know what adults gonna do? They will cut your head through with knife this large!" Jeremy gestured to show the possible size. "And even such big ears will not stop it."

Without further ado Chris pounced onto him, and the two rolled all over the floor: Chris latched to Jeremy's hair, and Jeremy pulled on Chris's right ear. Both boy teams attempted to separate them, but to no avail until Mr. May rushed in:

"What's going on here?! James!"

"Jeremy was teasing 'em with big knives again," the boy in purple sweater - James - informed.

Mr. May grabbed Jeremy by his hoodie and pulled him away from Chris (whose ear was on the verge of being torn):

"How many times have I asked you NOT to tease anybody who comes for the first time?! There's time, you know!"

"I wasn't teasing 'em," Jeremy wailed. "Was about to tell 'em about who's who..."

"Jeremy."

"Okay, got away." Jeremy pouted.

"Are you even thinking that other shows are being shot down there right now? No one needs your fighting there... James! Richard! Make sure - make sure, I mean it - that our guests are ready for the shooting on time. Fine? And I will make sure that mischief is away."

When the costumes were recognized, there was a small argument (for Matt and Jon both wanted to pose as Batman, and eventually this costume was occupied by Chris), but no more fights.

"Right, boys." Mr. May entered the room once again to check if they were ready. "I see, you're ready."

"What are we gonna do?" Sylvester wondered - he chose the role of a wizard from Lord of the Rings.

"As you all know, superheroes and magic crafters use items to perform their... mm... special attacks. This is going to be the task for the female team tonight in one of the show sections. The players are to give you the respective weapons and tools."

"Can we hint?" Petey asked. His choice was Thor costume.

"No, you can't. They should guess by themselves. The male team will be given a similar task with girls. You'll see."

* * *

When the round Role Exchange was announced, the boys were already standing behind the entrance door, sharing glances. Cameras in every corner did give them shivers, though their task was so easy.

"...You girls always ask us what we like about those superhero and fantasy movies. And now we're going to show you." The captain of the male team paused, then called out: "Superheroes, wizards, please come out!"

Having heard that, the kids walked out in turn - Matt was the first (his outfit was of red and golden color, and it had a mask as well), and Petey was the last - and stood in two rows at the sides of a round table, on which eight different items were placed.

"Here you see eight characters, and you know it well that every hero need a weapon. You have eight items, and your task is to give each hero his weapon. You have ninety seconds, girls. Three, two, one, go!"

Number 90 was switched on at the background scene, and the four members of the female team quickly set up to work.

"Right, this one's Thor's hammer. I know it for sure!" the girls' captain shot out and approved her words by giving the mentioned item to Petey. "Who else knows which one goes where? Who's this one?" she pointed at Jon, who was dressed in a steel-colored sleeveless shirt, sport-styled pants and high running boots.

"Leave this one for later. Is there a wand?" the tallest of the female team asked, pointing at David - his outfit was a black cloak with red edges and a pair of fake glasses. "This one's Harry Potter, so he needs his wand."

David suppressed a chuckle: he was the one who adored Harry Potter stories the most. Even Johnny could not reach his level, and now as well: of course Wolverine wasn't as cool as the most famous glass-wearer ever. And not so easy, for only one of the girls knew that black-yellow-blue outfit from the comic books almost never used in the movies.

Sylvester stood there with such serious face that no one could hold in a laugh when looking at him. Patrick had a different problem: his ninja-styled outfit was made out of very itchy material, so he hardly could hold a non-hinting blank expression even when the female team's captain was searching for the shuriken owner - him, to be precise. Eventually, the weapons were sorted, and the time-up signal sounded.

"All right, girls, let's see what you've got here." The male team's captain crouched next to Matt. "What's your name, young man?"

"Iron Matt!" Matt exclaimed, having put all energy that stored in him during these one-and-a-half minutes.

"Okay, Iron Matt, and what weapon does Iron Man use?"

Matt showed a red glove that was a missing detail from his costume.

"Congrats, girls, you got a point. Next... What's your name?"

"My name is Bat-Chris!" Chris proudly proclaimed from under his mask.

"And what does Batman use?"

"A bat." Chris showed a bat-styled item given to him.

"To be precise, it's not a bat, it's a BATarang, but anyway, it's the correct answer. Accepted."

In Matt's opinion (which matched the opinion of most here), the task was outstandingly easy. It was clear that Harry Potter used a wand and Gandalf the Grey possessed a magical cane. The same was with Thor (hammer, great) and Ninjago (shurikens). In all, the female team earned six points out of eight, because they switched two items: the bow (which should've been given to Jon, for he was dressed as Hawkeye from Marvel Comics) and the claws (which should've been given to Johnny).

"Now listen up, superheroes! The capital's council informed that they are going to enter possessing chips into everyone's brains!" the male team's captain shouted. "Go and save us all!"

The eight boys darted to the exit from the room, superhero movie music (Avengers Assemble, was it?) accompanying them.

* * *

The surprises weren't over after the girls' octet (they were dressed as Disney movie princesses, and the male team's task had been to decide who of them had which magical friend) was gone behind the scenes. Both eights were waited for by the dressing room trio and Peter, as well as the rest of the kids, though they were not the main initiators, that's for sure.

"Flash mob," Jeremy mysteriously whispered.

"Whatssa flash mob?" Petey wondered.

"A spon-tan-ee-ohs action re-heer-sed," James proudly explained, and Jeremy blew raspberries at him.

"It was MY idea, geniuses," the girl in Pocahontas outfit interrupted. "And I know a perfect song for it. Remember, Richard?"

"'Course, Ash, I remember. And I have dat cd, innt it cool?" Richard grinned.

"Anyone tell me whatss-gonn-on!" John 'Simmy' Simm yelped, and David and Johnny hushed at him.

"Jeremy and Ash want to wreak havoc," Peter put in. "Cool, Matt, eh? Those show endings are all so BORING. Winner team jumps in glee, and..."

"But we have no time!" Paul interfered, showing his beloved pocket-watch as a proof.

"Hah! Time!" Ash snapped. "That dance has fine rhythm. All you have to do is..."

The kids bunched up to hear her better, and she began whispering. But after two or three sentences Petey's cousin Jenny (dressed in Cinderella outfit, which didn't fit her much) interrupted her:

"You sure? This dress not so free!"

"Trust me," Ash grinned. River, who also was here (she was dressed as Merida from Brave) together with her younger sister Mels (the best Tiana ever), rolled her eyes.

* * *

The final round of the show was the searching competition: both teams had to find three small items among multitude of colorful plastic balls. Eventually, it ended up with a draw, and the two captains had to run a staring contest to select the winner. But as soon as the female team and their rooters squeaked with joy, the theme music broke off, and the introduction to another song began.

"What is going on?" the captain of male team asked in astonishment. His team mates all shrugged, as well as female team members.

The lights over the free patch of the room were switched on, revealing a single short figure in the middle - a boy in red-and-golden outfit, now without the mask, his floppy hair revealed. The active part of the tune began, and he twirled around, wobbling like a small dizzy giraffe. Two seconds later the girl in Pocahontas outfit and a boy in a cape joined him. Then the dressing room three - shorty, curly and purple sweater.

"If you're blue and you don't know  
Where to go to, why don't you go  
Where fashion sits,  
Puttin' on the Ritz!"

This version was much faster than the original one, and arranged differently as well. The number of kids grew, and they formed a rectangle.

"Different types who wear a day coat,  
Pants with stripes and cutaway coat,  
Perfect fits,  
Puttin' on the Ritz!"

The kids began running at one place, then bounced at the same time - superheroes, princesses, wizards and casuals together.

"Dressed up like a million dollar trouper,  
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper..."

"Super Duper!" two pairs of twins yelped, arms in the air - now the children formed a rhombos, and they were in the fourth row: first was the biggest girl in Merida outfit, then the Iron Boy and caped one, then the dressing room trio, and then they four.

"Come let's mix where Rock-e-fellers  
Walk with sticks or umb-er-ellas  
In their mitts,  
Puttin' on the Ritz!"

The captains weren't dumbfounded anymore. All because the children's dance was so overjoyed and sincere that their mouths widened in large grins by themselves. The same opinion infected the rest of the players and viewers as well: some began tapping their feet and nodding their heads in the rhythm of the song. But it was not all. When the musical interlude began, the children scattered around the place - each of them ran to a certain adult and pulled him or her to the central area.

The words began again, and now the doubled amount of people was performing at the 'stage'. Despite most of them didn't know the routine, the dance didn't seem chaotic - perhaps some invisible ties made it look harmonically. Another interlude followed, and this time the new persons joined, about which even the kids - apart from, maybe, three or four - didn't know before. Those were three umbrella-carrying and suit-wearing boys much older than the children (even older than the curly-haired girl in front, who was with her dad), they were about eight or nine. Their routine was not too dynamic, mostly rhythmic.

Finally the tune was over, and the group froze in anticipation.

The hall exploded with yelps and clapping.

"Just what I needed," the first brolly-carrying boy - the smoothly-combed one - informed.

"I told you," the second one, chubby and with curved nose, approved.

"Hold on a second!" Peter exclaimed, running up to them. "You mean that it was YOUR idea? You just used those..." he pointed at Jeremy, Richard and James, who were trying to get lost in the crowd walking out.

The third boy, short-haired and tallest of them, arched his eyebrows:

"Didn't we? What would you say? Stephen? Boris?"

"To be honest, we did, didn't we, eh, Mark?" the chubby one shrugged.

"So, you maybe ran the show as well? You're the super secret masterminds here?" Peter exploded.

"What are you on about?" the smoothly-combed one wondered. "Adults are stupid, but not that much."

"Super secret masterminds? Hmm, I love that title. And you folks?" the tall one addressed his pals. "S-S-M-H-T, Super Secret Mastermind Holmes Triplets!"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

All four raised their heads to see Peter's dad towering over me.

"Holmes Triplets? ANOTHER set of Holmes Triplets?!" Mr. Capaldi shot out. "Oh my freaking music gods, pure gold!"

"Obviously," the three boys haughtily responded at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: Pure gold, those crossovers. Now for some notes.  
1) The show Battle of the Sexes is based on a real-life show. Here where I live it is called Who's on Top? and is quite popular.  
2) Jeremy, Richard and James are the toddler versions of Top Gear runners (Mr. May is supposed to be James's father, and his helper Jessica got her name after the Top Gear head music theme with the same name).  
3) Ash is the toddler counterpart of Ashildr (for she is an immortal being as well as Timelords, so why not?).**  
**4) The music to which the kids dance is the remixed version of Puttin' on the Ritz, which sounds in the YouTube video called Flashmob Moscow (Russia): Putting on the ritz 2012. Just watch it (actually this very flashmob inspired me).  
**

**And I won't tell you anything about the triplets. For now. (grins evil-like).**


	24. The Tale of Hurricane Matthew

**A/N: This little story is dedicated to everybody who supported and inspired me during this year. May you all be rainbows and not hurricanes!**

* * *

_This little story took place not so long. Maybe a year ago, month ago, maybe a day ago…_

* * *

"Daaaaaad!"

Mr. Capaldi scrunched his monumental nose and glared at his shrunken copy sitting on a large beanbag, as well as about ten or even more boys and girls of about his son's age.

"What, Peter?"

"You begin with once-upon-a-time, or it is NOT a story!" Peter stated, arms crossed.

"Fine, fine, son. No more interruptions, okay?"

* * *

_Once upon a time there lived a boy named Matthew, who didn't look unlike other kids. In fact, you could never find him from the first time in a class or any other group. He looked joyful enough, benign enough and calm enough, but deep inside he had a secret. It was his heart, which was bigger than anybody else's. Though nobody knew about that.  
_

_Matthew was happy until the day when…_

* * *

"Why don't you call him Matt?" River interfered.

"I told you not to interrupt, didn't I?"

"You told Peter and not me."

"Fine, this time it refers to all of you," Mr. Capaldi sighed. "Because Matt sounds like a mat on which people walk. And you know what the name Matthew means? Ma Thieu, My God."

"Wow," River marveled.

"Then I will go on."

* * *

_Matthew was happy until the day when he found out that he grew. And he was not the littlest one anymore. Someone pink, slimy and sticky appeared, a small bunch of warmth which adults called his sister. But Matthew didn't feel jealous at all: he quickly got attracted to little Katrina. She loved him as well. Well, you want to know what was the end of happiness if it wasn't Katrina? Fine, then listen on.  
_

_One day, when Matthew returned home, his pants were torn, his tee was dirty, and his only favourite toy – a black plush dog – was damaged: its head was hopelessly torn off.  
_

_"What happened, Matthew?" his parents asked.  
_

_"Jack stole my doggie and broke it!" Matthew replied.  
_

_"Aren't you ashamed? Jack is smaller than you! He wanted to play and you didn't want to share anything with him, Matthew! No more words, go to your room!"  
_

_This way Matthew learned that he had no right of being right, because he was not grown fully yet. And because he wasn't the littlest anymore. It didn't matter that Jack spoiled every single toy that got to his hands, it mattered that Jack was little.  
_

_Time passed. But nothing changed: there were still people older and more adult than him, which had the right of being right. The only person who gave him hope that he had this right as well was his little sister Katrina, but it wasn't too much.  
_

_Matthew grew, and his heart grew as well. He not only saw every single unfair deed, but also felt it, and every time a new prick was stuck into his heart. And every time a new stick was inserted into it when he was stretched over the ground, surrounded by the sound of laughter, when trying to perform something in a fair way or get rid of something very unfair.  
_

_The final day came when Matthew dared to sing. Katrina – the only one whom he could tell his secret desires – supported his improvised singing performances (of course, when no one else was around) with clapping and joyful shouts, and one day Matthew dared to enter the stage and sing. But when he was making his way to the stage, he heard a short whisper of a very familiar voice. At first he didn't pay any attention, because it was his time and his song - Rock You Like a Hurricane by Scorpions. It wasn't easy for Matthew. His legs were wobbling, his eyes were burning, his voice was rocking over the hall… But all of a sudden he caught a reproachful look of one of the many beholders filling the hall – it was one of his relatives, that had repeated one single phrase more than once. The same one every time. And it had been whispered into his back.  
_

_HOW DARE YOU DREAM OF SINGING? GO SING IN A BARN FOR THE PIGS!  
_

_And then Matthew's heart couldn't feel the pressure anymore, because it was one last time. You know that you could break a camel's back by placing one extra straw on it? The same took place here. Matthew's heart exploded, revealing all offence, all rage, all sadness that was stored in it for years and years and years, though it's owner rarely recalled about it.  
_

_"Hurricane!" Matthew yelled, his voice turning to wind howling. "Hurricane!"  
_

_He could no longer feel himself. The one final prick that entered his heart made it fill his whole self with stored darkness and turned him into a hurricane – literally._

* * *

"A hurricane? How could a man turn into a hurricane?" Mels interfered.

"It's a tale, you dodo!" Colin hissed.

"Hmmmmmmm," Mr. Capaldi murmured and continued.

* * *

_No one saw Matthew for a long time. But soon a hurricane appeared out at sea, and it brought mass destructions, leaving hundreds of people homeless and killing them as well, though less. Ones who survived the incoming of this hurricane didn't know why they knew it, but they knew that "Matthew did it". Therefore, the hurricane was named Matthew. Evil Matthew. Big Bad Matthew. Destroyer Matthew. All the time – Matthew.  
_

_Soon the disasters ended. The sky got clear, but not for long: winter came as it always comes, and it brought snow where it should be brought. There was much snow, some feet of it. And one evening, which was white with snow and slippery with ice, a stranger appeared in town. It was a man whose hair was white and flying in the wind like feathers, whose hands were scratched and covered with pricks sticking out of them, and whose chest had a large dark spot in its middle. He had large sad eyes, which did not reflect anything. He was walking, walking and walking, never speaking to anyone, never stopping. And everywhere he appeared, weather became windy.  
_

_The stranger stopped only at the sight of children playing in the snow. Well, it was not the most peaceful situation: some kids were tossing snowballs at each other, and one of them was attempting to attract others' attention.  
_

_"Hey everyone, I'm gonna catch this wolf!" And another snowball was tossed at a puppy which was hiding under a tree, trying to get warmer.  
_

_This was the time when the stranger stopped. Only to catch the snowball tosser by his hood.  
_

_"Let me go!"  
_

_"If you ever toss another thing at an innocent being, I will toss you," the stranger said in a deep, husky voice. "Why don't I toss you now? I believe there's a second chance... I'm searching for a girl named Katrina. Anyone of you knows where she is?"  
_

_None of the children knew. And the stranger walked on, but he hadn't told a lie: when the aggressive boy decided to toss another snowball into that very puppy, he fell from the tree where he was sitting and smashed his nose.  
_

_The man walked and walked and walked, and every time he met a bunch of children he asked them about that mysterious Katrina. He walked night and day, night and day until the morning when he stopped in front of a house aglow with holiday lights.  
_

_"I am searching for a girl named Katrina," the stranger told the little girl who was playing outside the house.  
_

_"My mother's name is Katrina," the girl replied. She wasn't afraid of him, even though he was covered in snow and his clothes were hanging on him. "Will I call for her?"  
_

_The stranger nodded. In some moments the girl and her mother both exited the house, and the second one froze – not with cold, but with surprise.  
_

_"Oh gods, Matthew!" she cried out. "What happened to you?!"  
_

_"I don't know, Katrina."  
_

_Of course it was Matthew. Cold, white-faced, white-haired, but it was him.  
_

_"Mum, is this about…" the girl began, but Katrina rushed inside, repeating one single phrase over and over. It was 'I knew it, I knew it.' She returned with a small box in her hands.  
_

_"Come in, Matthew," she said. Matthew came in. "The day you were gone I found this at the stage. Now it is time to return it, I think."  
_

_Do you know what was in the box?_

* * *

"A ring or a locket," River supposed.

"A notebook," Patrick put in.

"A coin," Chris added.

"No, not of the kind. Listen on, then."

* * *

_A fist-sized lump of glittering garnet-colored rock was placed inside the box. It was shaped like a pear and was quite heavy, and though it didn't look like it at all, it wasn't rock. It was Matthew's heart which Katrina had found at the ruins of the place where he had sung that fateful day. It had turned firm not to let anything left inside it get out.  
_

_The heart and the hole fitted each other perfectly, but none of them reacted, like key and keyhole do not react if you don't turn them. Katrina's daughter was the first to understand it.  
_

_"What makes hearts beat?"  
_

_"Happiness," Katrina replied. Matthew did not react – he even stopped blinking. "And what made my brother happy?"  
_

_For some moments she was recalling. What could make him happy again? And then it came to her. Snow. Snow angels. Snowmen. Matthew and Katrina, soaking wet but cheerful, return home, and they are waited for. With what?  
_

_Katrina left for the kitchen and returned with a steaming cup.  
_

_"Just remember," she said and gave it to Matthew.  
_

_For half a minute Matthew was warming his hands against the cup, though it was unclear what was stronger – the cold filling his whole self or the heat from the freshly made drink. Then he took a sip and closed his eyes.  
_

_"It's working, mum," the girl whispered: Matthew's cheeks turned a shade redder, and his lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but lost the skill. The taste of chocolate was not only the most pleasant taste for him (since he was a child), it also made him recall that episode to the end. Playing table football with Katrina. Darts game – in secret, for their parents did not adore that. Sharing borrowed comic books. Cutting paper snowflakes.  
_

_Then another vision came.  
_

_"My turn!"  
_

_"You said you didn't want it!"  
_

_"Whoops!"  
_

_"You cheater!"  
_

_Little Matthew is distracted by the pompoms. Oh gods, blasted pompoms that Katrina pinned to his scarf! This second is enough for her to jump onto the sleigh and dash down the hill with laughter. Matthew attempts to catch her, but fails and rolls down the hill.  
_

_A small snowball fight solves all their arguments.  
_

_The vision ended, and Katrina exhaled with relief: it indeed was working. Slowly, but surely the hole on Matthew's chest began shrinking, and the sound of steady heartbeat filled the room. Not only that: blush appeared on his cheeks, and his hair slowly turned brown, as it should've been.  
_

_When the cup turned empty, Katrina took it away and placed a hand on Matthew's forehead. It was warm. Not the stone cold it used to be. And the wind stopped.  
_

_"Katrina? I have… I have not melted?" he asked, opening his eyes – green and aglow. Then he touched his chest just over the freshly healed hole. "Wha-what?"  
_

_"You are here," Katrina simply said. "And you are Kay. The Snow Queen got you, but you made that LOVE word come together. Or was that ETERNITY? Never mind."  
_

_Matthew didn't speak anymore. He simply embraced Katrina and gently rocked her in his grasp, his renewed heart free of all pricks and sticks that used to be stuck in it. Then he crouched to look at his newly-found niece once again.  
_

_"Una Mattina," Katrina informed.  
_

_"What?"  
_

_"I called her Una Mattina. One Morning in Italian. Just promise it won't be a windy morning."_

* * *

"And Matthew laughed. And soon he found out that his heart was even fairer, but it also could resist all the insults and everything, which helped him with restoring fairness. He never turned into a hurricane again. No more. The end."

"And what happened next?" River asked. "It can't end like this."

"Well, if the night before you get presents is windy, then it is Hurricane Matthew coming," Mr. Capaldi replied slyly. "How would all the presents be delivered without a wee little quick hurricane? Matthew, make sure they are delivered on time."

Matt darted out of the room with a high-pitched squeal.

"Always works." Mr. Capaldi rolled his eyes. "I hope he does not get scared by what I prepared."


	25. Time Teasers

At first Patrick was nervous about staying without his guardian and not at preschool (even though it meant spending some time with one of his friends, particularly Tom-Stripy-Scarf). But the boy understood that Jamie had a super-duper urgent task of mending a set of musical instruments, which included wind ones as well as strings, so it had to be done. Anyway, he got used quite quickly, for Tom was very inventive when it came to games. At the moment the kids were digging in a chest full of odd old-fashioned clothes and funny items.

"Look, Pat, Imma ghost!" Tom exclaimed, showing another garment, which was most of all like a square violet knitted towel with a hole in its middle, and shoved his head into it. "Booooooooo!"

"Ha!" Patrick struck a warrior-styled pose as an answer, having found a tam-o'-shanter far too big for him.

The boys went on trying strange clothes on until they found the most curious item in the collection. It was a clock with square wooden base, round face and golden hands and numbers, but it did not have a "door" behind – just two perfectly round holes big enough to push an adult's fingertip through it. In addition a large key wrapped in plastic was attached to it.

"Let's show it to Auntie Sarah," Tom offered.

Sarah, who was finishing writing another article, agreed to tell them about the found item.

"This clock is twice older than me, boys. It belonged to my grandmother."

"Why it has no batteries?" Patrick asked.

"Because batteries were not that widespread then. This key needs to be wound up with this key from time to time."

"Then why don't you wind it?" Tom wondered.

"Some gears inside the clock are not functioning. Hmm… I wanted to get it fixed, but then forgot about it. Thank you for reminding me about them. It's about memories, you know… Do you mind taking a walk? I'll finish the article and we'll go."

"Yay!" the boys shouted in unison, and Tom bounced with joy.

"But first PLEASE place everything you found as it used to be."

"Awwwww!"

* * *

For some time of the way Tom and Patrick were entertaining themselves with Tom's favourite outdoor activity: chasing cars which whizzed in the same direction with them. But soon Patrick saw that Sarah was anxious. It was not about the face expression or something – he could sense such feelings, as some kids can.

"Promise me one single thing, you two," Sarah asked. "Do not gape. Would it be pleasant to you if someone gaped at you?"

The boys shook their heads, riddled.

"I know you're well-behaved boys, but still… Here we are."

They stopped in front of a small brick building with a huge sign over the doors, written in letters which used to be golden but turned brown after time.

"B-O-Y-A-R-D an' B-O-Y-A-R-D c… clock-work an' keyworks," Patrick read, moving his finger in the air along the imaginary line under the letters. "Whatssa Bo… Bo-yaaaaard?"

"The finest clock-and keysmiths I know," Sarah replied and pushed the door, the stained-glass pattern onto which depicted an hourglass filled with water instead of sand.

Tom and Patrick had promised not to gape. But they found it extremely difficult, for two strangest human beings were sitting at the tables loaded with gears, glass pieces, clock hands and such-like trinkets. At first Sarah's charges thought that they were boys just like them, but the duo had adult faces, though extremely short limbs and too large heads.

At the sight of Sarah both placed their work at the tables (the one whose hair was a bit longer and curlier and stuck up was polishing a key with beautifully carved top, while the one with the buzz-cut was tinkering with a tiny wristwatch) and widely beamed, but didn't say a word.

"Hello Jack, hello Julian. Are there any urgent tasks which are not to be delayed?" Sarah asked. The two shook their heads. "Great. Can you help me with these?"

She placed the clock in front of the one with the buzz-cut, who opened its back cover and began examining it through a magnifying glass. While he was busy doing it, Tom and Patrick switched their attention to more stained-glass windows present here: one depicted a scroll tied with a red ribbon, another had an oil lamp and a diamond. Then they were attracted by numerous shelves practically obscuring the walls which contained even more bizarre things than the chest in which the boys had been digging some hours before. Most of these were covered in rust, oil, dust and everything in between, which made them look even more mysterious. But all time-measuring devices – from classic to digital – on these shelves were clean and without a speck of dust.

Patrick did not realize that he was almost rubbing his nose against a huge clock with charming number images placed on the lowest shelf (on the level of his head; he had never seen shelves hung at such low height) before two small hands grabbed his middle and gently, but insistently pushed him to the side. This was the one with curlier hair – Jack, yes, Jack. He was barely taller than Patrick or Tom: just about two thirds a height of an ordinary grown-up (the second one, Julian, was even shorter: half an average height). Like a hobbit. A hobbit who nevertheless wore shoes. And he had blue eyes, like Frodo.

Jack quickly climbed an almost invisible ladder at the side of the shelf, gathered some gears from it and brought them to Julian, who nodded and compared them to the worn ones in Sarah's clock. Tom suppressed a laugh: he saw that the small men were dressed in the same fashion, but Jack's shirt was navy blue and pants were white, and Julian's clothes – vice versa: white shirt and blue pants.

"That's reassuring," Sarah nodded when Julian showed her a thumb-up. Then it dawned on boys that both "clocksmiths" haven't said a word all this time. The only words that Tom and Patrick found here apart from the sign were those written on cards scattered where Jack's and Julian's tables were free from mechanical particles. And they were obnoxiously long, so it took the kids almost all time before Sarah finished the seemingly one-sided conversation to read them.

Tom lost his patience as soon as the door closed behind them:

"Auntie Sarah, why are these kids working here?"

"First of all, Tom, Jack and Julian are not kids. They are dwarves."

"Dwarves? Like in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?" Patrick interfered, for he was eager to learn something new as well.

"Emm… In fairy tales dwarves are magical creatures, and in life such people like Jack and Julian are called this way."

"But why didn't they grow?" Tom asked.

"There are different reasons. But they all are about a fault in their growth. What happens to a tree which does not get enough light and water?"

Patrick nibbled on his fingertip, imagining the described situation.

"The same happened to them. But it was on the inside, not on the outside."

"Ah," Tom said. "And why didn't they speak?"

"Just because it's their choice. They think they do not need to speak. Or maybe they suppose there's too much speaking in the world."

Or maybe it's impossible to read their names, Patrick thought. Sarah must've read his thoughts because her next statement was as follows:

"Their second names are formed from French words, this is why they are so long when written. And besides, they're twins, this is why their parents decided to give them similar names."

"Pas… passa… pass… e-e…" Patrick murmured, brushing the card he had nicked from the workshop table.

"Jack Passe-Partout Boyard and Julian Daniel Passe-Temps Boyard," Sarah pointed out. "This means Jack Pass-Key and Julian Daniel Pass-Time."

Tom and Patrick spent the rest of their way home attempting to think of beautiful names in the same manner for themselves.

* * *

"Oh my stars! We've got a little ghost right here!"

Indeed, the blue-eyed ghost with a scoop in one hand and a half-full plastic bag in the other was helplessly standing next to the flour box.

"What? Has the kitten got your tongue, huh?" The tall man in patchwork clothes laughed and ruffled Patrick's hair, having created another flour cloud.

Patrick coughed and stared at his shoes (which avoided being 'whitened').

"I suppose it's okay. Who told you to do that on your own?"

"Hi Mr. Tardis… Jamie," Patrick confessed, placed the scoop and the bag onto the box and rubbed his face half-clean.

"That's what I like about your Jamie. He believes you gotta become self-standing without anybody's help, I mean it… but still I think you need some help here. Mind if I help you, kiddo?"

"Please," Patrick asked.

"Next time you just place it in two…" and here Mr. Tardis's mouth formed first a tiny 'O', then a broad grin. Patrick followed his gaze to learn what made him react like that and was taken aback. At first he thought that it was some kind of an alien with four arms and two heads, but then it was clear that those were two abnormally short persons, one standing on shoulders of the other.

"Whoa, I recognize your ways! Hiya!" Mr. Tardis exclaimed. Jack and Julian – those were no other than them – rewarded him with toothy grins, and Julian bounced down from his brother's shoulders. "My my, the Boyard twins! Haven't seen you in a while!" Mr. Tardis went on, crouched next to them and shook their hands (his huge square palms dwarfed the two even more).

Jack, who was the first to spot Patrick, gave him a hand wave. Meanwhile Julian pulled Mr. Tardis by his collar, craving attention, and when the taller man leaned to him, whispered something into his ear.

"Really? I thought you had everything…" Mr. Tardis shrugged. Julian went on whispering. "Okay, I'll try to. There's anything that can be found in those basements and attics. Up to plutonium."

Julian arched his brows.

"Seriously!" Mr. Tardis approved and jumped up. "See ya two out, fine? No talking right here."

The small men simultaneously showed him thumbs-up and scampered away, working so quickly with their short legs that Patrick thought hardly any ordinary adult could compete with them.

* * *

"I could've danced all night and could've begged for more!" David sang, running down the street and closely followed by his twin brother Johnny. "I could've spread my wings and… One, two, Mr. Tardis comes for you!"

"What? Forgot da rest?" Johnny giggled. David stopped jumping down the stairs to Mr. Tardis's basement on his right foot and glared at him:

"Fits more here. One," jump, "two," jump, "Mr. Tardis comes for you… Three," jump, "four," jump, "Gallifrey Falls No More…"

"What?"

David shrugged, and it was gospel truth: he didn't know where he had heard the final line. Nevertheless he still forgot it, having entered Mr. Tardis's workshop, for that was the sight to see. Most of numerous things usually scattered around the floor, hanging on walls and even from the ceiling were bunched in piles in the corners (one such pile almost reached the ceiling), and a great part of freed space was occupied by a giant tower-like construction sliced open, so a web of gears, metal sticks and unclear bright spots inside was seen very well. Mr. Tardis was busy fixing something inside this mechanical monster, while two either too small adults or too odd children had more esthetic things to do: the one in a blue shirt and white pants was carving something out of piece of wood, and the one in a white shirt and blue pants was attaching arrow-like items with lots of curves to a huge round plate.

"No, David, they are not children," Mr. Tardis informed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand (having left an oily stripe over it). "Jack and Julian have been preparing this project for ages, so I thought: why can't I help them? Arms and legs are there, head as well…"

"What is it?" Johnny wondered, walking around the mechanism.

"This, Johnny, is a clock. A very special clock. Every time it strikes, it also shows the time. Just like that: you two are going to show two o'clock, mm-hmm…"

"Mr. Tardis, is this gonna be an exx-hibi-tee-on?" David asked.

"Nope. It'll be a competition, and you'd better not disturbed me or them, sorry… cuz if it's not finished by the next morning, there will hardly be anOOF!" Mr. Tardis scrunched his face and stared at his fingers which had got stuck between two sharp edges.

David and Johnny at first stared at him, then at Boyard twins, then at each other.

"Wait here," David expressed the idea which struck them both. "Wait here, don't leave… we're gonna come back in a mo'… 'kay?"

Mr. Tardis, Jack and Julian did not leave and were taken by surprise when a whole crowd blocked the way in and out of the basement. David and Johnny were the first to enter, then Matt and Peter, then Patrick, Billy, Jon, Paul and Ganny, Tom, Colin, Chris, Sylvester, Petey and his cousin Jenny, River, Mels and a boy of about River's age, grey-haired and skinny.

"We all wanna help you," David proclaimed. "Tell us what to do."

Jack dropped the keys he was holding.

Mr. Tardis nervously tugged on his collar:

"David, Johnny, kids, it's pretty nice of you, but, you know… You don't know much clockwork principles and in all… HUH?!" The latest was referred to Julian tugging on the bottom of his shirt. The taller man leaned and listened to what was whispered into his ear. "Are you sure? I understand that's great of them all, but still…" Whisper. Mr. Tardis exhaled until there was seemingly no air in his lungs. "Marvellous. But I – am – not responsible – for – possible…"

"Spoilers?" River interfered.

"Literal spoilers, River." Mr. Tardis took his tool belt off. "Get instruments, all of you. And obey all instructions. Not mine."

"YAAAAAY!" all the kids exclaimed at the same time.

* * *

The Boyard twins coped even with teaching without speaking (perhaps they preferred to speak to those who would not laugh with guarantee, and they were not too sure about the children). At first Mr. Tardis divided the kids into two groups – the painters and the carvers, and set River responsible for the first one and the new kid, whose name appeared to be Josh, for the second one. Then Jack and Julian set off to tutoring them.

"You've got warm hands," Matt informed Julian, while he was gently setting the boy's fingers in the most fitting positions of holding the blade and the wood piece. "My mama says dat people with warm hands are never bad."

Julian winked at him and nodded, as if offering him to give it a try. Matt immediately cut his finger, but this didn't make his enthusiasm leak out. At the other side of the table, Peter was panting with tension over the almost ready figurine which was to be painted: he didn't want to spoil all work.

No one except for Mr. Tardis watched the time, so when the group made all the preparations (the Boyard twins' work was polishing, detailing and attaching every single figurine), they were surprised that it was almost night outside.

"Here, everything is done," Mr. Tardis summed up. "Wanna see?"

"Yay!" the kids responded.

Jack set the creation's hands at one o'clock position, and it responded with a blue police box rolling out of small doors below the face. The box's doors opened, and a ginger-haired silhouette poked out and showed a thumb-up. Jack hummed and turned the key once more, this time to set the hands to the two o'clock. This time the clock reacted with two figurines, which would be identical if it were not for the color of their pinstriped suits – brown and blue. They shook each other's hands and showed two "victory" signs, then left. Three o'clock showed three persons with fluffy white hair: a child, a youngster and an adult, all three wearing fancy clothes and with different items: the child with a big red button, the youngling – with a test tube, and the adult – with a tiny clockwork mechanism. Four girls with different hairstyles and clothing (enormous mop of wheat-colored curls, afro-styled and two ginger ones in different attires) pointed out four o'clock. Next were five cricket players led by a blond kid suspiciously similar to Petey. Six kittens, seven couples with umbrellas, eight dancers, nine rockers, ten runners, eleven giraffes and twelve police boxes with different inhabitants inside. And every such group contained a figurine similar to one of the kids present in the room.

The room exploded with hand-clapping. But Mr. Tardis, unlike the Boyard twins, did not respond with joy. Instead he approached to the exit and looked outside.

"No, I am not letting you go home at night," he summed up. "Thank goodness it's Sunday tomorrow. Do you mind spending a night here? I've made sure that it's warm here. Heating system and all."

"But our parents an'…" Chris began.

"Leave it to me."

Indeed, most children were already yawning and rubbing their eyes, and not only them.

* * *

"There he is!" Rose exclaimed, pointing at the direction where a long-legged dangling figure with abnormally huge head appeared. But as soon as the group practically boiling with anxiousness and rage approached to Mr. Tardis (and this was him), he stopped and raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Your charges are okay," he squeaked. "It was too late, so I decided to take care of them. Come on, I'll show you."

"A crazy hobo who knows how to take care of children! Ridiculous," Donna snapped.

Most of the adults present here (especially Tegan, Petey's sitter) were resisting the temptation to choke this insane person with bare hands, but this would've been very disappointing, so they agreed to make sure the kids were alright. And it was true. Inside the basement stuffed with all kinds of working instruments and materials Mr. Tardis had made a pastiche of a bed out of air mattresses, mats and blankets, large enough for all the children – and two childlike adults – to fit.

The children were sleeping so peacefully that not a single adult – apart, maybe, from Donna and Tegan – dared to wake them up.

"Okay, let them sleep. But return them home safely," Clara stated.

"Guaranteed. And… Sarah," Mr. Tardis took a square wooden item from the table, "I think this is yours. Julian told me he did his best, but advised not to pull the spring too hard, okay?"

* * *

_Do you know how to make it clear if a person loves you? The one who does will tuck your blanket when you're sleeping. This way this person makes sure you do not get cold. The one who does not love you will never do it._

Matt didn't know who said it. He just heard this voice in his head. Calm and content, and accompanied by hands covered in scratches, splinter tracks and teeny weeny, but prominent scars. These hands set the old, but warm blanket around him in a more comfortable way, and then Matt felt something soft and warm touch his forehead just below the hairline.

"You know, Matt, sometimes even adults need to be kissed goodnight," Mr. Tardis – and this was him, whoever else? – whispered into Matt's hair. But the first speaker wasn't Mr. Tardis.

Feeling that he would not fall asleep until learning who it was, Matt waited until Mr. Tardis's steps faded away and his breathing went even, then opened his left eye (the right one refused to open) and sat up. Johnny on his right was humming something in his sleep, and Peter on his left was curled up in a little ball.

The rest of the kids were fast asleep as well, girls on the separate air mattress. White head, black head, white head – Billy, Patrick, Jon. Curls, straight, curls, straight – Tom, Petey, Colin, Sylvester. Long hair, shorter, shorter, even shorter – Paul, Ganny, Josh, Chris. Two dark spiky heads – David and Johnny. And…

Matt's heart almost bounced out of his chest when his sleep-puffed green eyes met a sly look of blue ones. For half a second Matt and Jack were staring at each other, and then Jack soundlessly made up a 'boo' face: made up a 'whistling' mouth and popped his eyes. Then reached out over Peter and pressed his short chubby finger (which was like all of him: as if an adult version was squashed down) to Matt's lips. The boy responded with beaming through the "obstacle", Jack nodded and rolled over, following the example of Julian, who was almost invisible in the pile of blankets.

After that Matt quickly fell asleep again.

* * *

**A/N: This time another half-real fandom is introduced - the Fort Boyard TV series. Jack and Julian are no one else than counterparts of Jacques and Jules (aka Passe-Partout and Passe-Temps; the second one is sometimes called 'Deni' (=Daniel) or 'Metronome'), the dwarves who lead the participants around the fort. In the show they do not speak, answering the questions and expressing what is to be done with gestures, this is why they are silent in this version.**  
**Also, the story with the clock refers to H.C. Anderson's tale The Most Incredible Thing, and Josh is supposed to be the counterpart of the War Doctor (John Hurt - JH - Josh, for there are lots of Johns).**


End file.
